


Suffer the Children

by Kikai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Mention of past attempted sexual assault, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 70,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikai/pseuds/Kikai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew 19:14 - "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God."</p><p>Their schemes for forcing the Winchesters to say yes to being vessels gone awry too many times, the Angels have decided on a plan to toss the brothers and that troublesome angel companion of theirs in to alternate realities with completely separate lives, hoping that divided and alone they will fall. If they can break the brothers, if they can gain their trust, they can get what they need. </p><p>So begins the story of two strangers whose drive for answers, friendship, and love transcend time over and over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel has never felt more human than when he is in the Impala.

Really, he doesn’t even mind being confined to the back seat all that much anymore; he enjoys watching the endless stretch of the side of the empty highway blur past him. He memorizes the name of every town, big and small, that they pass through. He counts every crack in the pavement leading to the greasy diner in Peoria, Illinois. He recalls that Dean has played that one Led Zeppelin track nearly thirteen times on this trip alone, and that Sam has grown quite tired of hearing it. Castiel doesn’t mind it so much.

Sometimes when the weather is warm Dean will opt to roll down his window for fresh air, resting his left elbow in the opening. When this happens, Castiel silently shifts from the center of the back seat to the side behind the driver’s seat and presses his temple to the backseat window, reveling in the way the wind whips through his hair. He lets his eyes flutter shut and listens to the chirping of a bird miles away, the slice of a windmill blade cutting through the air, the rhythm of the song of choice rumbling through the car.

He takes in the scent of the Impala that is so hard to describe other than _Sam and Dean Winchester_ , and in this particular case as they pass through a small town affectionately named Strawberry Village, the smell of ozone right before a warm summer storm. The light that shimmers through the broken rain clouds envelops the interior of the car with golden warmth; and though Castiel does not sleep nor dream, he feels as though he could drift off and away at any moment. Or at least, what he thinks that might feel like.

Dean complains that he is starving and stiff and _seriously_ he has this damn horrible crook in his neck, and Sam nods in agreement and claims severe boredom; but Castiel, in all his millennia of existence, has never felt more at peace –nor more alive—than in this car. Even as a soldier of Heaven, as a mighty warrior of God, Castiel feels so small here. The distance from one motel to the next even feels impossibly endless – Castiel finds so much information to soak in while gazing out of both windows. He feels tiny, and unimportant, and so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

And he likes that.

When they pull in to a motel for the night, Castiel feels that familiar pang of disappointment that the day is over, his time in the Impala is done. While the brothers sleep uncomfortably in their cheap motel beds, the ever sleepless Castiel stays dormant and watches over the brothers, making sure that no harm comes to them while they dream. Occasionally, he wishes he was able to dream, not merely be able to visit the dreams of others and wade through them like it was just another place on Earth and not a completely different plane of existence, but when he finds a particular dream that he likes he can sometimes pretend it is his as well.

Sam dreams of days long gone. He dreams of Jess, of law school and how his life could have been different. Dean would be upset knowing that Sam still dreams about it, but Sam seems the most relaxed and at peace with these than when he dreams of Ruby, Jess’ death, of betrayal and demon blood and letting Dean down.

Castiel feels a pang of sadness to see that, once again, Dean his dreaming of Hell. He turns fitfully in his sleep and dreams of torturing souls and being so terrified of how he enjoyed it so greatly. Castiel usually ends his internal suffering with a touch to the forehead and allows Dean to sleep dreamless, but sometimes he feels as though Dean _needs_ to dream of Hell. He needs to remember what he did, how he suffered. He needs to always carry that burden with him and Castiel knows he is the same with his own personal demons, so instead he stays put and waits for sunrise.

He prays the Winchester brothers will have better dreams tomorrow.

 

***

 

Over a double stack of silver dollar pancakes the next morning in a cozy window booth at the local greasy diner, Dean is carefully perusing through the statewide newspaper looking for anything that would be worth checking out. For the sixth day in a row he seems to come up with nothing, zip, zero. Sam has his laptop sitting next to his coffee and omelet, hoping the internet may smile upon him today and give him better luck.

“God dammit I’m bored,” Dean huffs, throwing the paper over to Castiel. Castiel picks it up with a grateful smile; Dean knows he likes trying his hand at the crossword puzzles, even though most clues were pop culture references that he didn’t understand and ended up bugging the brothers for answers in the end.

“You know we haven’t had a case in over a month,” the older brother continues as he stuffs his mouth with pancakes.

Sam sighs and closes his laptop, having dug up no potential cases of his own.

Castiel eyes the crossword puzzle with intent, electing not to tell them about the ghost of a scorned bride haunting a honeymoon suite three states over, or the group of vampires running amok close by to that. The angel had tried to help the brothers find cases before, but Dean told him to can it because he didn’t need help and they’d been able to find cases perfectly fine before the Castiel’s feathery ass had shown up and started teleporting him everywhere. That shit seriously messed with his digestive system.

Castiel wondered if now Dean might take his help, but he keeps it to himself and tilts his head at a particular clue.

“Who sings ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’?”

“Britney Spears,” Dean mutters behind a mouthful of food. “Pretty sure that video defined the early part of my adulthood,” he says as a grin spreads across his face, fondly remembering the perky blonde girl in a sexy schoolgirl outfit.

“Why does she _want_ someone to hit her?” Castiel asks with genuine concern as he began writing the answer in the boxes.

“It’s an expression. And don’t ask what for,” Dean answers as he turns back to Sam. “There has to be _something_ going on for us to look in to. If I’ve learned anything in my life it’s that quiet towns are never that quiet at all, and if I don’t find something to salt and burn soon I think I might lose it.”

Castiel nonchalantly picks up a piece of toast from Dean’s plate, his eyes never leaving the crossword as he takes a bite. He doesn’t need to eat and never has, but sometimes he finds himself eating solely for the wonderful taste—a quality he learned from Dean. Said hunter follows his toast with an annoyed expression that Castiel ignores as he asks, “ _Troubled actress, Lohan_?”

“Lindsay,” Sam says absentmindedly, taking another sip of his coffee. Dean gives him a look. “Perhaps we’ll find a case in the next state,” he says, getting back on the subject. “We can hit the road after breakfast.”

“I’m sick of being on the road, my ass is sore,” Dean replies, wincing.

Castiel is about to ask the name of the leading actor in Dr. Sexy M.D. when he feels it.

It’s the feeling of being watched, being hunted, and it makes the hairs stand up on the back of Castiel’s neck. It’s the feeling that prey gets right before the predator is about to pounce. Castiel drops the toast on to the newspaper, alarmed. He hears the low hum of enormous energy surrounding him and the feeling suddenly swells in to a tidal wave of the ominous feeling, crashing down on him. And he knows exactly what the cause is.

Dean notices the sudden change in demeanor. “Cas?”

He stops when he notices the alarm in Castiel’s eyes, wide with words he isn’t saying to Dean, but that Dean understands anyways.

Trouble.

He slowly reaches in to his jacket and begins pulling out Ruby’s knife, giving Sam a knowing look that the younger brother quickly understands. But when he sees Castiel slice his forearm with his steak knife as discreetly as possible and begin to use the blood to form the symbols on the table Dean knows all too well, he quickly realizes Ruby’s knife will not be nearly enough.

Castiel only gets half way through hastily drawing the banishing sigil when he feels the ominous presence go silent, and he tenses.

The Winchesters barely have enough time to duck when Castiel suddenly cries, “Get down!” before not only the window next to them, but all the windows in the whole building are blown out.

Dean is knocked out of the booth and lands in a heap of shattered glass that digs in his skin and makes him groan in pain. Panic and chaos in the diner fills his ears as people scream and rush the exit. Sam is beneath the table, trying to find his bearings and looking at Dean in panic.

They hear the sound of glass crunching beneath shoes as they look up and see a tall, brutish looking man with a hard jaw and slicked back hair, a cruel look in his eyes as he stares down at them. He’s dressed in a dark navy suit and has the toothiest sneer Dean has ever laid witness to. Two men stand behind him, and Dean’s blood goes icy.

The man on the table looks to both Sam and Dean as if studying them, a smile forming on his lips before his gaze drops down to Castiel, just having noticed him still in the booth, and his smile drops.

“Still causing trouble, I see,” he drawls, his voice harsh and raspy.

Castiel’s eyes widen further and he visibly tenses, his hand still hovering over the half finished sigil.

“Ambriel.”

The angel sneers at him, eyeing the sigil with an unimpressed laugh. “Is that kind of violence really necessary?”

Castiel swallows hard and Dean can see with much clarity that Castiel is… scared. Terrified.

Well, this can’t end well at all.

Ambriel shoots his hand out to clasp around Castiel’s throat, lifting him with great ease right out of the seat and holding him so high that his feet dangle above the table. Castiel only makes one grunt and grabs on to the other angel’s hand around his throat before going silent.

Dean recalls the Enochian sigils engraved in his ribs, staring incredulously at the angel. “How did you—”

“Find you?” Ambriel smirks at him, then at Castiel. “You may be hidden from me, Dean Winchester, but my dear little brother Castiel here is far from it, though not without trying.” His grip tightens a little more around Castiel’s neck. “And where you go, I know Castiel follows right behind like the good little pet he is.”

“Dean,” Castiel chokes out, his eyes locking with the hunter. “You should run.”

Sam’s terrified gaze searches out Dean’s as he moves next to him, but the elder brother clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “No, Cas. I’m not leaving you here to be manhandled by a dick with wings and his backup dancers.”

 _“Dean,”_ Castiel says more harshly, struggling to get the word out, still dangling in the air. “They aren’t here for _me_.”

The angel gives Castiel a somewhat thoughtful look. “Always so intuitive.” He flashes Castiel a toothy grin before lifting him higher and slamming the angel down on to the glass-ridden table on his back. Ambriel immediately places his shoes on to Castiel’s cheek, pushing his face to the side and down in to the table.

Castiel flashes his eyes to Dean in a wide-eyed look that screams _Run, run I’ll hold them off,_ but Dean can’t find the energy in him to move, to leave Castiel behind.

“You know what I have never liked about you, brother?” Ambriel questions menacingly, brushing a few shards of glass from his shoulder. He motions for his lackeys to move forward and Dean’s heart skips a beat. He glances around frantically searching for something that might help him. Something that might help Cas. Castiel tried to grab at the offending foot as best he could and throw Ambriel off of him with no success.

“You always seemed to have too much…” he continues, searching for the right word before his features darken and he spits, “sympathy.” He nods to Sam and Dean. “Grab the brothers; I will take care of the pest.”

 Dean’s breath catches in his throat as he watches the two angels lunge for them, just as Ambriel was pulling an angel blade from up his sleeve. He is tackled on to the floor by one angel and can tell from the tell tale grunt his brother made that Sam has been too. Soon the angel has him in a choke hold, turning him at the right angle to see Castiel pinned as Ambriel hunches over with the blade at his throat.

“Cas—” Dean starts, but is silenced when the angel holding him tightens his arm around his neck.

“Watch, Dean Winchester, as I put your precious pet out of its misery,” Ambriel mocks, bringing his arm up to strike, and Castiel closes his eyes in anticipation of the impact.

“Wait,” Dean voice cracks as he pleas. Ambriel pauses to glance at him. Dean breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in quick succession as he tries to find the words to say. “Let them go and you can have me.”

Ambriel tosses his head back to laugh, amused. “Arrogant as always, Winchester, but unfortunately you have nothing to barter with. Our decision has been made.” Dean bristles as he sees the angel push down with more pressure on his foot, right on to Cas.

“But you’re here for us,” Dean replies. “And that means you need something. You angels always _need something_.”

Ambriel seems to contemplate this. “It’s true that I require something of the Winchester brothers, but you have made it quite clear that you aren’t going to play along,” Ambriel says. Sam and Dean both clench their jaws.

“You want Dean and I to say yes to Lucifer and Michael,” Sam says, his eyes dark.

“Which ain’t gonna happen, dickbag,” Dean adds, his eyes not leaving Cas.

“Exactly,” Ambriel says to both of them, tossing the angel blade in his hand, Castiel still immobile beneath him. Castiel’s eyes are still clenched shut, and it looks as if he’s concentrating incredibly hard on something. Dean sees his fist clench.

“You’ve made this very difficult, much more difficult than it needs to be. But after witnessing the way you vehemently refuse to accept your roles, we have decided to pursue a different route.” Looking up, he nods to the angel holding Dean down.

The angel nods in reply and Dean draws in a sharp breath when he feels his forearm being sliced open and tries to jerk away. Sam struggles against the angel forcing him still and calls to his older brother when he sees what is happening.

Dean watches as his blood drips on to the floor in heavy droplets, trying not to wince at the pain as the angel squeezes his forearm to increase the blood flow. He attempts to wrench free of the arms but the angel barely budges.

“What are you going to do to us?” Sam asks, attempting to mask his frightened voice, attempting to appear fearless.

Ambriel smiles at them and glances down at Castiel, who is now mouthing something to himself. “Now what could you be up to, brother?”

Castiel starts whispering in a language that sounds like gibberish to Dean. Ambriel maliciously grabs Castiel’s throat and twist a hand in his hair, jerking his head back. “Open your eyes Castiel. I want you to watch.” He gives Castiel’s head a good jerk and the angel obeys, opening his eyes to see the brothers detained.

 _“Plapli oi hami,”_ Ambriel begins, chanting harshly in that same gibberish Cas was whispering earlier,  _“…od nenni iadpil noromi niiso.”_

Castiel’s eyes widen, shocked. “No, Ambriel, you can’t—”

“Believe me Castiel, despite all your flaws you _will_ come to understand that this is what is best. For us. _For the world._ ”

Castiel shakes his head frantically. “No, this is unstable, it won’t work, and you’ll rip apart this very—”

Ambriel glares down at him and firmly grasps the angel blade in his hand as he slowly begins pushing it in to Castiel’s chest. Castiel cries out in agony, searing pain flooding through him, through his vessel, through is very essence. A bright white light begins to shine from the pierced flesh around the blade.

“Cas!” Dean bellows, struggling even harder.

 _“Noromi oi oiad noalnnoasmi oali niiso,”_ Ambriel continues chanting, nodding to the angel holding Sam, who quickly slices his arm open as well, the blood flowing like gravity was pulling it to the center to meet Dean’s. Dean watches in horror as the blood begins to form symbols on the ground, and those symbols begin to glow.

Castiel continues to grit his teeth in pain, both of his hands pulling against Ambriel’s as it keeps slowly plunging the blade further in to him. He begins shouting his own incantation in desperation now, competing with Ambriel’s voice.

There is a rumble that starts to sound, and the room begins to shake. Slowly at first, but it quickly grows as Ambriel presses on with his words.

 _“Plapli iadpil olani oiad olani mad ol od bogpa.”_ The other angels had joined in with the chanting and the sigils drawn in blood start sinking in to the floor.

“Your incantation is weak, Castiel,” Ambriel huffs, out of breath from the concentration. “You have grown rusty.”

Castiel’s eyes start to glow; his mouth as well, still open in pain.

 _“Iadpil od oiad gemeganza, iadpil od oiad gemeganza,”_ Ambriel repeats over and over as the glow from the sigils start to grow brighter, brighter until it is almost enveloping them and something akin to a very loud cracking sound is emitted from it. The brothers watch, horrified, as a large crack begins spreading across the floor.

“The hell—” Dean manages to choke out before losing his voice. Ambriel shouts his incantation one last time, and finally the growing crack comes to a halt, a groan and screech coming out of it at the same time. He also hears whispers rising up from it. The shaking in the room had only grown.

Dean turns to Castiel, whose eyes, mouth and chest wound are glowing brightly now. He calls his name in a desperate voice, but the plea is lost in the rumbling.

The angel grappling Dean clenches his hand around his throat and lifts him up as the other angel does the same to the younger Winchester. Dean calls out weakly to his younger brother, instinctively wanting to tell him it’d be alright, and not to worry Sammy, he’d get them out of this mess, just like he always does. The angels hold them dangling right over the shrieking crack and Dean pulls at their constricting hands.

“You have caused enough trouble for us,” Ambriel sneers, his booming voice rising above all of the chaos filling the diner. “So you will sit down there like good little boys, and you will wait for us to retrieve you when we are ready for you.” Dean twists and writhes in the angel’s grasp. “You will no longer cause trouble, no longer get in the way. You _will_ play along.”

Dean tries to reach out, grab Sam’s shoulder, but he is out of reach.

“And you _will obey._ ”

With that, the angel holding Sam releases him, and the younger Winchester is sent falling through the crack, making one last grab for Dean’s hand but their fingers only barely brushed and his hand was enveloped in the light.

“Sammy!” Dean screams after him, feeling the crack starting to pull at his feet. He takes one final glance at Castiel, his devastated gaze meeting the blank stare coming from the angel’s lit up eyes. His face is filled with terror as he realizes that this time Cas isn’t going to save him. No last minute miracles, no wave of a hand or snap of the fingers.

He closes his eyes, bracing himself.

“Cas—”

The angel drops him, releasing his vice-like fingers from the hunter’s neck, and he falls through, his words cut off by the crack swallowing him whole.

And he’s gone.

Dean’s voice calling his name finds Castiel’s ear even over the rumble and the chaos and, Castiel feels a fire starting to well up inside him, burning at his chest where the blade is almost completely to the hilt. It isn’t from the wound, instead from a much deeper within Castiel and he pulls with all of his being at Ambriel’s hands, feeling the muscles tearing at the force. Ambriel stares in shock as Castiel pushes against him, hurtling him off with a pained cry. Castiel immediately reaches for the blade, pulling it free from his chest and feeling his Grace slowly seeping out from the wound.

Not much time.

He is on his feet in a heartbeat, sending the blade flying through the air wordlessly and landing it right in the chest of the angel that was holding Dean. The angel cries in anguish before the room bursts with light and the angel falls to the floor, dead.

Castiel stumbles towards him, trying to retrieve the blade even as he felt himself starting to go numb. He knew this kind of pain—a dying pain. He pulls the blade wordlessly out of the dead angel but finds that the other one had vanished from where he was standing.

Coward; a sorry excuse for a mighty soldier of God.

He falls to his knees in front of the crack in the floor. He sees it begin to close and frantically begins reciting Enochian incantations, trying to remember the correct words, the symbols dancing in his head his vision starts to become blurry.

Suddenly a hand is grabbing the back of his neck and he is wrenched backwards, another hand gripping the wrist on the hand that is holding the blade. He struggles to keep the blade out of reach, but the pain in his wrist causes him to drop the weapon, and it falls to the floor close to the edge of the crack. Ambriel makes a grab for it, but Castiel kicks it over the edge of the crack and it disappears, causing the attacking angel to roar in anger and rage.

“You are dying, Castiel! It is time to give up this delusional fantasy of yours!” he hisses in Castiel’s ear, as the latter’s eyes started to become unfocused. He could feel himself slipping.

“No, you’re the delusional one Ambriel,” Castiel slurs, his entire body immobile now. He pauses to find shallow breaths. “You believe that this is what is best for us, for everything.”

“It _is_!”

“ _It is what is best for you_. It is arrogant and rash and you take this route not thinking… thinking of the consequences,” Castiel rasps. “And that is what I have never like about _you_ ; you always were so very… selfish.”

Ambriel roars again, turning Castiel violently around to face him, his back now facing the tear in the floor. He holds him by the jaw and forces him over the light, the glow surrounding him.

“Look at you,” Ambriel growls. “You’ve fallen so low and yet you still think you’re so _holy_ , so _righteous_. You’re full of yourself. You will lose, Castiel. You will lose _everything_.”

He leans in close and hisses in his ear, and Castiel can barely pull his senses together enough to hear him.

“I will make sure of that.”

He pushes Castiel away, letting go of his throat and watching as the angel, his entire body limp and the life quickly fading from his eyes, falls wordlessly through the crack.

And Castiel feels it as the light takes him – the all too familiar pull of death.

 

***

 

The alarm clock is beeping so loudly, so _obnoxiously_ , that he almost rolls over to turn it off.

Instead, he curls into the blankets more, trying to block the sunlight that is coming through his blinds and tune out the beeping. He tries to drift back in to sleep, tries to recover the fuzzy remnants of a strange dream that he is already forgetting, but loses the battle when he finally turns his head to eye the alarm clock warily.

Late.

He throws the blankets off of him in a huff, finally slamming his hand down on to the beeping monstrosity and rubs his eyes, yawns, stretches, then yawns again. He rummages around in his dresser for clean clothes—he doesn’t much care what kind they are. After pulling a pair of faded, worn jeans and a powder blue knit sweater on, he attempts to flatten his unruly hair in the mirror. No luck, still messy as ever.

He sighs.

 _Might as well get this day over with,_ Castiel thinks to himself, and he’s very much not ready to deal with anyone today. He briefly wonders if he’ll find his parents downstairs or if they’ll be absent as usual and he’ll have to walk to school. He picks up his school bag, tosses his books and an apple in to it from the pantry before glancing at the lonely house and heading out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The Enochian is translated with an online translator so please, please don't take too much of it to heart. I was going to use Latin, having taken four useless years of it, but Angels speak Enochian dammit, and sadly they don't offer Enochian as a course in school. At least not while I was in high school, anyway.
> 
> -Ambriel is the Angel of May.
> 
> -The title is taken from Matthew 19:14 - "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God."
> 
> -This story is as of yet unbeta'd. Please forgive any mistakes I have overlooked!


	2. Chapter 2

The first day of school was a rough one for Castiel –he was very late for starters—but also for more reasons than he thinks he really deserved. Sometimes he wondered if his supposed guardian angel had said _fuck this_ and bailed on him.

Castiel wasn’t terribly great at making friends. He was a good person, he knew that much, but he was also painfully awkward. He didn’t go out often, and wasn’t always caught up on the latest pop culture. Many jokes went over his head, and few people seemed to understand his incredibly dry sense of humor in turn. He didn’t date, but then again he wasn’t really all that interested in dating to begin with. He had this way of making others feel uncomfortable – though he never did it intentionally. He was… intimidating? Strange? Different? Just…

Castiel.

He made decent enough grades, got along with teachers and classmates when he needed to, but still could call very few people in that school “friends”. He hadn’t spent any time with anyone over the summer break, and his parents had taken a “private” vacation without him for the majority of it. In a way he was glad to be back at school and around other people again—but the school obviously didn’t feel the same way.

It all started with his backpack tearing halfway to school. His books tumbled out of the tear and on to the sidewalk. He frowned, furrowing his eyebrows as he carefully retrieved his books, bundling them all in his arms with much difficulty and carried on.

Then came the rain. It was a light sprinkle at first and Castiel could have lived with that – but then it escalated to a light rain, then to a hard rain and went straight in to a downright monsoon. His too-long jeans were muddy and soaking and his books likely ruined beyond repair when he finally reached the crosswalk adjacent to the school. He scowled at how his sweater clung to him and made him shiver at the coldness of it, and his hair was a huge mop plastered down on to his face.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t see it coming, that damned car. He was a few steps across the crosswalk when he glanced over and saw the car hurtling towards him. He thought, of course it would stop, it’s a damn crosswalk and he has the right of way, but he swallowed when he realized it wasn’t slowing down. In fact—it seemed to speed up.

Castiel tightened his jaw, visibly nervous but holding his ground. The car was a stark black, but he wouldn’t have been able to tell you the different between a sedan or SUV. All he knew was that it would flatten him.

The tires screeched as the driver swerved to avoid the boy at the last possible second, and Castiel in turn jumped out of the way, narrowly escaping his fate. He dropped his books and fell flat on his back as the car took the turn up to the school way too fast to be safe. He was barely able to catch the shadowy figure of two people inside.

He gritted his teeth as he pulled himself to his feet. He’d scraped his elbows and had a nice knot on the back of his head, but other than his pride nothing seemed to really be hurt. He bent over to retrieve his not only soaked, but now also muddy books and began climbing the hill that led to the school entrance.

He was already greatly enjoying his day so far, but slipping and falling face first in to the mud on a slippery rock up the hill was really the icing on the cake.

 

***

 

After cleaning himself in the bathroom (but not without garnering quite a few stares at his situation), Castiel dropped his dirty books off at his locker, holding on to the calculus textbook as he made his way to first period, referencing the room number on his now nigh unreadable schedule.

By the time he’d reached the classroom, he was late. The teacher gave him a hefty glare as he took the only available seat towards the front of the room by the large window.

“Sorry sir, I got caught in the rain,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Then almost killed while trying to cross the street.”

“That’s a nice story, any other excuse you’d like to share that I that didn’t ask for?” the teacher scowled. Castiel slumped down in to the seat.

“Wait—that was you?”

Castiel turned towards the deep voice from the back of the room to see an older boy lounging in a desk by the wall, his feet stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed. His leather jacket—slightly too big for him and popped up at the collar—was wet from the rain outside, as was his hair. Castiel’s rage was only quelled by knowing his would-be murderer was also soaked in the rain.

The kid flashed him a lopsided smile. “Sorry man, didn’t see you.” He made a vague hand gesture. “Rain and all.”

Castiel clenched his jaw and steeled his glare on the boy before slowly turning his head back to the front.

“If you two ladies are done, I’d like to start class,” the teacher grumbled. “Let’s start with introductions, because administration makes me even though I really could care less about your likely very exciting lives.” As he wrote his name on the board _(Mr. Schwartz, and don’t you dare call me anything else you brats)_ , he turned to point at a student. “You start. Name, grade, and something boring about yourself.”

As the students started introducing themselves half-heartedly around the room, Castiel let his gaze wander back over to the driver of the black car, curious. He had worn jeans with holes in them, and work boots that were covered in mud and grease. His hair was short—like a botched military cut, and styled slightly up in the front. When he caught Castiel staring at him and flashed that arrogant smirk again, Castiel quickly frowned in response and turned back to face the front.

When it was his time to introduce himself, he nervously stammered, “Castiel, Junior.”

“Got a last name?” his teacher asked.

Castiel looked around awkwardly. “Yes?”

He heard a roar of laughter from the kid in the back, and it made him tense.

“ _Fascinating_. Thank you _so much_ for sharing,” the teacher growled as he marked Castiel down on the attendance. “And lose the fucking attitude.”

They continued around the room until the only student left was the rugged boy in the back, and when Castiel turned to look at him he found the guy had fallen asleep. And he was snoring. Loudly.

So the teacher chucked the whiteboard eraser at his head, and it found its mark right on his jaw. He startled awake.

“The hell,” he stammered, rubbing over his face with one hand.

“Kid, this is probably the only question I will ever ask you in this class, so let us not make each other’s life harder than it needs to be, yeah? Name, grade, _fact_.”

“Winchester, Senior, I just moved here,” he said.

“And you got a first name, Winchester?”

“…Yes.” He grinned, glancing at Castiel and winking. Castiel narrowed his eyes. So he thought he was clever.

The class started snickering and the teacher threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Fucking teenagers, I swear to God,” he snarled as he started his lesson on the board.

The class passed by with nothing else exciting happening. Castiel tried to follow the lesson best he could – math wasn’t his strongest subject and calculus gave him particular trouble. Note taking was also difficult when all of your notebooks were caked with mud.

When the bell rang he stood up immediately, trying to get out of the room before the rest class to avoid traffic. When he reached his locker and stashed away all of his things, he felt someone walk up behind him.

“So what kind of name is Castiel, anyway?”

Castiel turned, already knowing the owner of the voice.

“Don’t you think it’s somewhat unfair that I don’t know your name and therefore can’t adequately make fun of yours in return?” he mused as he met the boy’s gaze. He realized too slowly that he was uncomfortably close. “Did you want something in particular?”

“Just waiting on my baby brother. His locker is right here,” the kid said, kicking at one of the bottom lockers. “Forgot to give him lunch money.”

Castiel nodded. His eyes locked with Dean for a few long seconds before he finally broke the contact. “Supposedly I’m named after the angel of Thursday,” he said.

“Huh, weird. Your parents religious or…?”

Castiel didn’t respond, instead turning back to his locker. The older kid looked around awkwardly, not sure what to make of the silent treatment. He shifted around on his feet, surveying the hall and checking his watch in an attempt to look like he really cared what time it was. Finally he locked his gaze on the back of Castiel’s neck, at the way his black, slightly too messy hair brushed against it. He averted his gaze and coughed.

“Dean.”

Castiel looked back at him.

“My name is Dean,” the older teen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I’m sorry I almost—almost killed you. And stuff.”

Turning again to face his locker once more, Castiel simply replied, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean was about to say something when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and smiled. “Hey Sammy, you forgot your lunch money.”

“ _Please_ don’t call me that Dean, especially not in _school_ ,” Castiel heard a boy reply. He shut his locker and turned to face them, only to be met with a shaggy haired brunette rolling his eyes at his older brother. He was almost as tall as Castiel, though the he only gave it a year or so before the younger brother surpassed them all in height.

Castiel gave Dean a look. “ _Baby_ brother?”

“Yeah, so what? He’s going through a growth spurt,” the eldest brother said, annoyed, as Sam’s ears went red.

“Looks like he doesn’t intend on stopping any time soon,” Castiel deadpanned, his lips barely twitching in an almost smirk.

“Hey Sam, this is the kid we almost ran over today!” Dean exclaimed, attempting to quickly change the subject and patting Castiel on the shoulder heavily. Castiel twitched at his touch and stared at his hand. Or more…glared.

“ _What?_ ” Sam hissed. “Dean that wasn’t funny!” Sam turned to Castiel, adding apologetically, “Please excuse my brother, he’s completely messed up in the head and should be shut away for everyone’s safety. I really hope you’re alright.”

Castiel just looked down at Sam’s locker, the gears in his mind already turning.

“It must be painful having a bottom locker,” he mused, continuing to look between his and Sam’s.

Sam blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Y-yeah, it kind of sucks. My knees hurt having to bend down all the time. Guess that’s what we get for being so late to register,” Sam replied, pocketing Dean’s money and bending over to start his combination.

“…Would you like mine instead?”

Both brothers looked to Castiel, their eyes wide in surprise.

“Why would you give up your top locker? Those things are hard to come by, man,” Dean said.

Castiel shrugged. “I’m not as tall as Sam. It would benefit him more and I’m sure his knees would appreciate it. It’s simple logic, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I suppose it is,” Sam stammered, rising back up to his feet. “Are—are you sure? I’m really grateful for the offer.”

Castiel pulled out a sheet of paper from his binder and wrote his locker combination down before handing the scrap to Sam; then Sam did the same.

“Damn. Thanks, uh…”

“Castiel.

Sam smiled. “Thanks Castiel. We’ll change all of our stuff later.” Sam gave a flip of the hand for a wave goodbye and shuffled off down the hallways.

Dean beamed at the younger boy. “That was really awesome of you dude. I appreciate you helping my baby bro out.”

Castiel nodded, shoving his books under one arm as he turned to walk down the hall.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he said, not looking back.

 

***

 

Castiel’s stomach dropped when the bell rang to signal school was out for the day and he saw that it was still raining. He had wanted to avoid taking the bus – but walking was now out of the question. Sighing, he gathered his books and headed for the lockers.

He found Sam pushing his books in to the top of his new locker.

“Hey, Castiel,” Sam said as he shut the door. “Thanks again for the switch, it’s been a huge help.”

Castiel nodded in acknowledgement as he bent down to open his new locker. He picked out his history and math books, intending to use them later for homework, but as he was reaching for them the locker was suddenly kicked closed on his hand. He flinched, more out of surprise than pain.

Sam was already leaning over him, asking if he was alright. He glared up at the tall, fit  teenager in the track jacket sneering down at them.

“Castiel,” he cooed. He kicked one of the books lying on the ground down the hall. “Thought you’d finally given up and was homeschooled by now.” He paused, glancing up in thought before his grin widened. “Oh _right_ —I forgot. Your parents aren’t ever around anymore are they?”

Castiel got to his feet. The older teenager leaned in close to Castiel’s face, but Castiel didn’t back down, only returned with a glare of his own.

 “What the hell is your problem, man?” Sam scowled from behind the taller boy.

“Don’t provoke him,” Castiel warned to Sam over his shoulder. “Let Connor continue bullying his way to better self-esteem.”

“You know this asshole, Castiel?”

“Cassie and I, we go way back,” Connor sneered. “Don’t we, Cassie?” He flung a heavy arm around Castiel’s shoulder, pulling him in too tight to be friendly and ruffling his hair too roughly to give off anything but animosity.

“If you’re referring to the occasion in seventh grade when you had a sexual identity crisis after you pushed me against a wall in the janitor’s closet and forced my hand down your pants,” Castiel began, and Connor’s smile dropped, his face blanched. “Then, yes, we go ‘way back’.”

Sam stared at Castiel in shock, his eyes wide and his mouth trying – then failing – to form coherent words. Connor’s lips peeled back in to a snarl and he instantly pushed away from Castiel like the shorter boy was on fire; then he grabbed the boy by his collar and shoved him against the lockers; the sounds of the clanging lockers drawing attention from the students passing through.

“Now you listen to me, you little faggot,” Connor hissed, his eyes locked on Castiel as he pushed his arm into the other boy’s throat. “You know and I know that isn’t how it went down, and if I hear you ever mention a word of it like that again I will _end_ you.”

Castiel leveled his gaze, his stark blue eyes narrowing. “Let go of me,” he simply replied, his deep, gruff voice unwavering.

“Why? Isn’t this like, your greatest fantasy? A man holding you down and having his way with you? Huh, Castiel?”

Sam came up behind Connor and pushed his shoulder violently. “He said to fuck off,” Sam said, shoving him again.

“You sticking up for your boyfriend, kid?” Connor backed away from Castiel and put his face inches away from Sam’s, his glare menacing. They both stared each other down for a few very long seconds, neither blinking.

“—There a problem, here?”

Sam broke the staring contest to whirl around and find Dean standing right behind him, his eyes locked on Connor, his voice dripping with venom. Connor instantly took a half a step back.

“Winchester?”

“Yeah, Wachowski. There a reason you’re up in my brother’s face?” Dean asked, his eyes still narrowed.

Connor looked between the two brothers as if trying to possibly see the resemblance. He backed further away. “Sorry man, didn’t know it was your brother.”

Dean bent down and lifted one of Castiel’s textbooks lying in front of his feet. Seeing Castiel’s name on the cover, he gave the younger boy a look. “Time to go home, Sammy,” he called to his brother, handing the book back to Castiel, who took it while avoiding eye contact.

“This ain’t finished, Cassie,” Connor smirked as he patted the side of Castiel’s face none too gently. He then turned to walk away, but not before nodding at Dean and whispering, “I wouldn’t trust that kid, Winchester. He’s bad news—also can’t keep his hands to himself. See you in English.” He turned around the corner and left just as the crowd watching began to thin.

Dean didn’t respond.

“You okay man?” Sam asked, tossing his books in his backpack. Castiel nodded, thanking him when Sam gathered the rest of his books and handed them to him. “What an asshole.”

“I can handle him,” Castiel replied, stuffing his backpack with his homework materials. “You shouldn’t get involved, Sam. He’ll just come after you when he finally gets bored.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Dean said gruffly. “He’s in a few of my classes.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, contrary to what you believe I _can_ fight my own battles. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon Sam, let’s go already.”

Sam waved good bye to Castiel, giving him one last apologetic look. Castiel nodded in response.

Dean avoided eye contact altogether as they left.

 

***

Castiel waited by the entrance to the school for his bus to arrive. The bus driver disliked him because his house lengthened her route significantly, and even then she usually dropped him off a quarter mile away from his driveway anyway—but walking a quarter mile in the rain was definitely better than walking three.

The arch above the doors provided him shelter as he opened his English book and started reading the passage for homework. Groups of kids ran past him to the parking lot as they scrambled to shelter themselves from the rain. He wasn’t even a paragraph in before he heard a car come to a halt in front of him, the engine purring loudly.

He looked up to see _that_ car, the black one of death feet away from him. The two occupants inside seemed to be having an argument of sorts – Dean, in the driver’s seat, was shaking his head at something Sam said from the passenger side. Sam gave him a stern face and nodded curtly. When Dean shook his head again, the younger brother said something through gritted teeth that Dean rolled his eyes at. It was then that Sam caught site of Castiel peering right in to the window.

Sam’s stern expression melted away and he smiled and waved. Castiel didn’t do anything in reply, but instead watched as Sam said one last sharp thing to Dean and then pointed to Castiel himself.

_So they are talking about me, then._

Dean let out a very heavy sigh. Then he began rolling his window down, the squeak from the rain-soaked glass the only noise as he met Dean’s gaze.

“It’s raining,” Dean said gruffly, shifting his eyes.

“Yes, it is,” Castiel replied as he eyed the car warily.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck again. He looked over at Sam, who nodded. “You shouldn’t be walking in the rain. Aren’t your parents coming to pick you up or something?”

Castiel only shook his head.

“So then how do you plan on getting home?”

“I’m taking the bus.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “Didn’t the last bus leave ten minutes ago?” he asked as he pulled out the bus schedule.

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “No, it’s only—” He glanced as his watch.

It was stuck—it was stuck on exactly 8:45 am. _The rain_ , Castiel thought with a groan. It must have frozen after getting completely soaked. He sighed in exasperation.

“It’s just not my day today,” he said under his breath, more to him than anyone else.

Dean tossed his head back in acknowledgement of his car. “Does that mean you need a ride then?”

Castiel was taken aback. Before he could stop himself from saying it, he replied, “No, I usually walk, it’ll be fine.”

“Look—I know that today wasn’t the best example,” Sam started, leaning over his brother to get a good look at Castiel, “but Dean is usually a good driver. Besides, walking in this weather is just insane. You’ll get soaked.”

“Again.” Dean added.

Castiel looked around, shifting his books from one arm to the other. He didn’t necessarily _distrust_ Sam or his brother, but he also had had enough high school experience to know that they could just as easily decide he was too weird, too awkward for their precious reputations and drop him. It was always better to not get involved in the first place.

“Look dude, I ain’t got all day,” Dean said, and it snapped Castiel out of his thoughts. He ignored it when Sam hissed _Dean_ disapprovingly. “Are you coming or not? Because I’m fairly sure mom has fresh apple pie waiting for me at home, and I don’t think Sammy’s gonna leave me alone until you get your ass in here.”

Castiel gave one quick nod before stepping out from underneath the arch and opening the door. This couldn’t be too terrible. Sam seemed like a genuinely nice person and had even attempted to stand up for him; and though his brother wasn’t the warmest person he’d ever met, he still felt one lift couldn’t hurt. He quickly tossed his books in to the back seat and climbed in himself before the rain could get him too drenched. When he shut the car door, he took a sharp breath.

The car was warm, a nice contrast to the cold rain outside. But it wasn’t necessarily the car that was causing the heat—otherwise Castiel might not have shivered the way he did when he settled in the backseat. Castiel ran his fingers along the seat without thinking, feeling the way the upholstery bumped against his fingers. It felt like electricity was buzzing at the contact. Why did it feel so…?

Even the scent smelled familiar; it was an aroma that immediately put him at ease without Castiel even realizing it.

“Kid?”

Castiel was ripped from his thoughts. He flinched, looking up at the rearview mirror to see Dean eyeing him. “I asked you where you lived,” said Dean.

“Oh, I’m… sorry, I was lost in my thoughts. I live right past the pond, it is six lights down this road,” Castiel replied, examining the hand that had been brushing over the seat. He stared at it like it was on fire.

Dean watched him in the mirror. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Castiel flexed his hand a few times. “I just—this car—”

 _It feels very familiar._ Castiel shook his head, trying to shake the feeling of déjà vu.

“I know, ain’t she a beauty?” Dean laughed, putting the car in drive and pulling away from the entrance. “You won’t ever find another car like her.”

Castiel heard Sam mutter _‘I’m sure he doesn’t care about the car like you, Dean’_ before a smile crept up on to his lips that he couldn’t control. He didn’t even know what had caused it.

“No, I’m sure that I won’t.” He mumbled to himself as he placed his hand back in his lap and tried to ignore the tingling coming from it. He looked at both of the brothers. “Thank you again for the ride.”

“Not a problem,” Sam smiled, glancing back at him. “Least we could do for your help today.”

“Dean mentioned that you just moved here,” Castiel said as he turned to stare out of the window. He watched the trees blur by and felt a strange sensation build in his stomach.

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “We move around a lot. Military dad, et cetera. Not sure how long we’ll be here for, but I hope we can at least stay in one spot for a bit. I’m tired of moving.”

“C’mon Sammy, it ain’t so bad,” Dean said, turning his windshield wipers up as the rain came down even harder. Castiel was now thankful he wasn’t walking in it. “Dad does his best to keep us grounded. You know that.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

The car was awkwardly silent for a long few minutes before Dean asked, “This it Castiel?”

Castiel snapped back to reality, glancing out of the window and nodding as his house came in to view. “Yes, it is.” He began to gather up his books as Dean pulled in to his driveway.  The rain hadn’t let up any, but that wasn’t the reason he felt emptiness when he climbed out of the car. It felt like he was missing something—something he couldn’t quite remember. Something right at the back of his brain, just out of reach.

There were no other cars in the driveway. His parents still weren’t home. The house would be cold and empty as usual. He briefly imagined what the Winchester house might be like. Warm? Inviting? The scent of apple pie?

“Thank you again, Dean, Sam. Perhaps I will see you at school tomorrow,” Castiel thanked the two brothers, a barely-there smile twitching at his lips. Perhaps making a new friend or two wouldn’t be so bad. Dean nodded and Sam gave a small wave of his hand. He shut the back seat door and walked as quickly as he could up the driveway and under the roof of the porch out of the rain. While he fumbled for his keys, he stole one last glance at the car.

Sam fished a cell phone out of his pocket like it had been ringing and answered it. Castiel could read his lips as he said “Mom,” in greeting. He smiled brightly and nudged Dean.

But Dean wasn’t paying attention.He was staring straight at Castiel, a spark in his eyes that Castiel knew he would never, _ever_ forget. It was a piercing stare, like he was searching over the younger boy viciously looking for something. He wasn’t focused on any particular part, but it was like he was trying to read his every thought. For all of the eye contact avoiding he’d done earlier, he was now locking his unblinking eyes right on Castiel with his eyebrows knitted together in concentration, his lips forming a thin line. The expression in his eyes looked like someone does when they have just seen something they thought they’d lost ages and ages ago.

When Castiel’s eyes met his, he cursed as he lost his grip on his keys and they clattered on to the wood panel of the porch. He glanced at them quickly, distracted. When he finally retrained his gaze back on Dean, the older teen blinked rapidly, snapping out of whatever thoughts were invading his head. His eyes darted around, trying to look anywhere but at Castiel. He quickly looked down at his gear shift and began backing out of the driveway, not once looking forward to where Castiel was standing, frozen.

Castiel shook his head, trying to cleanse the image of Dean’s stare looking straight through him out of his mind. He picked up his keys and unlocked the door; the rain had picked up again, the house was cold and lonely, and Castiel felt this unwavering sense that he had just forgotten something very, very important.

This day really just needed to be over.


	3. Chapter 3

“You did _what?_ ”

That one quiet hiss resonated through the entire room, bouncing around it in a quiet echo.

“It was a mistake, an accident,” came the hushed, nervous reply. “He wasn’t supposed to _survive_.”

 “Well he did!” The voice snapped, rising to an almost bellow before the speaker paused and relaxed himself, taking a deep breath. “There was a reason, you _imbecile_ , that the blood was a necessity of the ritual. What did you think was going to happen when you just threw him in without following it? Now he’s—he’s an anomaly; he doesn’t belong there, and it’s going to tear everything we have worked for down!”

The empty, dark room was silent for a long minute; the only sound was of a very distant police siren blaring away.

“Do you realize what you have done? What will happen when he starts noticing? When he begins to _question_?”

There was a rustle of feet against a carpet, the sound an animal makes when it has been startled. A loud thud also filled the still dark blanketed room; it sounded as if something—someone—had been forced up against a wall.

“Can… can nothing be done?” the reply came, small and terrified.

“You find the Winchesters and you make them trust us. You put yourself in between them and that blasted excuse for a warrior of God and you _end_ _this_. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a brief pause. “Your cowardly soldier has been dealt with, let his demise be a lesson—and warning—to you. Do not make any more ‘mistakes’.”

“I…” Before the voice could finish there was a rustle of feathers, like the sound of wings beating and lifting away.

“Yes, sir,” the voice finally finished before there was another beating of feathers and the room was silent once more.

 

***

 

Dean Winchester liked to think himself a pretty decent guy. He did passable in school, he made friends (especially those of the female variety) very easily, and he didn’t tend to get in to much trouble if he could, you know, help it. (Sometimes he really just couldn’t help it.)

Still, despite some of his minor faults, Dean Winchester felt as though he’d been a good boy long enough to have earned a few minutes of extra sleep.

Apparently the big guy in the sky didn’t feel the same way.

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t get out of bed in the next thirty seconds, so help me,” he heard his mother call from the bottom of the stairs, her stern voice was still laced with an air of affection to it.

“Mom,” he whined, his voice smothered by his pillow. “I don’t feel good, I’m gonna stay home.”

“Not gonna work,” she replied from in the kitchen, popping a few pieces of bread in to the toaster. “It’s only the second day of school, Dean. Now get your behind down here and have some toast.”

Dean groaned, dragging himself out of bed. He picked up a fairly clean smelling shirt from the ground and slipped on his jeans hanging over his computer chair. He made his way downstairs, stumbling from his sleepiness. “I don’t think the first week of school is even all that important, Mom,” he grumbled as he sat down at the kitchen table.

Mary Winchester might have spoiled her children a tad, but she was far from a pushover. “What kind of mother would I be if I let you skip your second day of school?” she asked as she put a glass of milk in front of him.

“The best kind,” he replied, rubbing his face tiredly. He eyed the toast with disdain. “I hate toast.”

“You do not.”

“It’s dry.”

“It’s supposed to be, it’s _toast_.”

“Can I have some leftover pie instead?”

“Absolutely not.”

Dean sighed as he took a small bite. His mother was the only woman in the world who could make toast actually taste decent. “Where’s Sam?” he asked as he dug in to the scrambled eggs his mother scooped out on to his plate next.

“He left early with your father, he wanted to get to school as soon as the library opened.”

“Of course he did,” Dean laughed to himself. “Geek.”

Mary eyed her son. “You could do with going to the library yourself once in a millennia.” She smiled warmly at him and patted his head, even as he rolled his eyes at her. She walked over to the bottom of the stairs, her hand on her hips once more.

“Adam Winchester,” she called sternly to the top, “this is the last time I’m going to tell you to get down here before I come up there myself.”

“Mom!” Dean heard his youngest brother cry out. There was a loud thud as the kid flew down the stairs and almost wiped out on the landing. His sandy blonde hair was still wet from his shower and he held a small plastic dish in his hand. “I was gathering the bacteria around the sink for Mrs. Templeton’s class. We’re going to test it!”

“Oh gross,” Dean groaned, putting down his fork.

“That’s great honey,” Mary replied as she handed Adam a brown bag. “Please don’t let the whole class know how bacteria-ridden our sink really is. Now here’s your lunch and I signed your permission slip, it’s laying on the counter. We’re leaving in one minute. You don’t want to be late for your second day of fifth grade, do you?”

Adam shook his head, and Mary watched as he flew in to the downstairs bathroom to collect samples from there as well. She sighed.

“You boys, I swear, you’ll be the death of me.” She winked at Dean and bent over to kiss his temple. “Have a good day at school, honey. I’ll make your favorite spaghetti when I get home, alright?”

“Thanks mom,” Dean grinned back at her.

Mary grabbed her purse from the counter, as well as the permission slip she knew Adam would eventually forget. “Adam, let’s go!” She called to him.

He came barreling out of the bathroom and grabbed the piece of toast Dean had in his hand. Dean made a grab for it but Adam was much too quick, and he disappeared out the door right behind his mother.

Dean washed his dishes in the sink and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. He briefly wondered if he’d had any homework, but he hadn’t done it anyway so what did it matter?

He opened the door to the garage, seeing his beautiful, perfect 1967 Chevrolet Impala waiting there for him. After his father had handed her down to him on his sixteenth birthday, he worked on her nearly every day. He would spend hours and hours out in the garage just listening to her engine purr; the sound was the most soothing thing he knew. She could make a bad day good again.

The Impala was different from any girl Dean had ever had. The Impala wouldn’t cheat on him, wouldn’t yell at him for forgetting a date, wouldn’t chide him for not taking a shower. Most of all, the Impala was always there when they packed up to move across the country again. Dean Winchester only had enough room in his heart for one love of his life, and this was her.

“G’morning sweetheart,” he cooed as he opened the door and threw his bag in to the passenger seat. He patted the dashboard affectionately and nearly melted as he turned the car on and heard the engine come alive.

He popped in his favorite mix cassette tape and lost himself in the familiar drum beats and guitar riffs of Metallica filling up the car.

Really, you couldn’t ask for a more perfect morning.

So, of course it couldn’t last.

Dean was maybe a half a mile away from the school when he spotted him—a kid with clothes that were a bit too big for him and a mop of messy dark hair that made it look like the guy had either just rolled out of bed or just rolled out someone _else’s_ bed and really Dean didn’t need to think about that. Dean recognized him instantly as he watched the teenager trudge along the side of the road, a new backpack slung around his shoulder.

He didn’t want to slow down, he didn’t want to pull over, and he most certainly did _not_ want to stop and ask Castiel if he needed a lift the rest of the way to the school. In fact, Dean would be pretty content to not ever have to see Castiel again, especially after he dropped the kid off yesterday. He’d gotten a weird feeling about Castiel all throughout the day and had done his best to avoid him, but then Sammy had to go and use his epic bitchface to guilt him in to giving the junior a ride home. He was doing fine and was almost out of the woods when he had to go and give him one last look—and then it happened.

He looked at Castiel—really looked at him, more than just a small glance or while he had his back turned, and he felt that overwhelming sinking feeling in his gut, like a mix of guilt and anger and frustration and elation all rolled in to one. A sporadic flash of barely there and too fuzzy scenes pelted through his brain. He vaguely pictured a hand grabbing for him and the rustle of heavy fabric, but after that everything was too jumbled. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he sure as hell didn’t like it. Dean Winchester liked being in control of all aspects of his life, and yesterday made him feel strangely vulnerable.

So no, he wasn’t going to have a repeat of that. He was _not_ going to slow down, so… why what his foot easing off of the gas pedal? _Stop that. Stop that, you goddamn foot!_

He was still going fairly fast when he passed Castiel; the younger teen heard the car coming up from behind him and turned around to watch it pass by. Against his better judgment, Dean didn’t keep his eyes on the road like he should have, like he wanted to. Instead, he turned his eyes towards the passenger side window and just as he peered out he saw Castiel tip his head towards him.

It felt as though time had stopped and he was frozen there in that one instant, his gaze completely locked on blue eyes that seemed to burn in to him. He’d seen these eyes before; they weren’t just the blue eyes on a pretty blonde flirting with you behind the bleachers. He had _seen these before_. He had seen these eyes lit up with anger and power, and softened with trust and affection, and clouded with guilt and shame. He knew these. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pulled in his chest. His head was spinning.

“Fuck!” he hissed to himself as he slammed his foot on the break. It felt like his heart was beating a million miles a minute and he leaned over his steering wheel, breathing heavily to try and ignore how his entire body was shaking. He felt the gurgle in his stomach warning him his eggs were about to come right back up.

_What the hell?_

He grabbed his rearview mirror and glanced through it, watching as Castiel very hesitantly approached the car. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and fought against the urge to suddenly drive away and off a cliff. He reached over and rolled down the passenger window just as Castiel reached the car.

Castiel bent over, peering in to the car.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean kept his eyes facing forward. He clenched his jaw. “Your parents didn’t drop you off?”

“No.”

Dean jerked his head to stare out of his window like he’d just spotted something super interesting. “Well then get in.”

There was a long pause. “Dean?”

“I said get in, Castiel.” _And don’t talk. Your voice pisses me off._

There was another, slightly shorter pause as Dean heard Castiel open the door. The seat next to him dipped slightly as the younger teen slid in to the seat.

The car was silent; Dean kept facing his window, his eyes darting left and right as he tried to gather his thoughts. Thoughts like, _why did I offer him a ride? Why did I slow down? Why did I get out of bed this morning?_

Dean must have been lost in his own thoughts for at least a few minutes, because he heard Castiel shift slightly and question, “Dean?”

Dean nodded, his attention snapping back to the road ahead. He immediately changed gears and started back down the road.

Castiel sat with his hands placed firmly in his lap as he stared out of the window, attempting to ignore the pressing silence around the two of them. He glanced sideways at Dean, who was still gripping the steering wheel like if he let go he might float away.

“You seem upset.”

“Ain’t none of your business, Castiel,” Dean replied through gritted teeth.

Castiel huffed in annoyance and rested his elbow on the window, setting his face in his propped up hand.

Dean let out a very visible sigh of relief when they came up on the school and Dean turned on to the hill leading to the parking lot. He was so wound up that he’d almost run off the road—twice. He wanted out of this car; or better yet he wanted that _kid_ out of this car.

He pulled in to a parking spot in the senior lot and switched the engine off. Without missing a beat Castiel reached for the handle of the door and grabbed his bag. He paused just as he was about to swing the door open.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said quietly. “I hope your day gets better.”

Dean nodded, still staring straight ahead, trying to put all of his focus on the squashed bug on his windshield, trying to look anywhere but at Castiel.

Castiel lingered for a few seconds, glancing at Dean with his mouth slightly open, like he was about to say something else before he shook his head and got out of the car. Dean only allowed himself to look at the teenager as he made his way in to the side entrance.

He relaxed substantially when he saw Castiel disappear through the doors and leaned back in his seat as he let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Fuck this kid. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t even know his last name and now he was hung up on the thought of him like some giggling _girl_. No, not hung up on him—not like that. Hell, he didn’t even know what he meant. Just that this was pissing him off. He knew what he need: he needed to get laid. The last time he’d slept with a girl was right before they moved, at that seemed like damn pity sex, so that was shitty. His nerves were getting the better of him; he needed to let out some steam. He’d find the bustiest, bleach blondest girl in that school and ask her out. Yeah. This was a good plan.

A knock on his window jerked him out of his thoughts and made him slam his fist down hard on the horn. He looked to see a pretty brunette standing right by his window, clearly taken aback at Dean’s reaction. He turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, his bag in his hand.

“Hey, Dean, it’s Anne. From biology?” she said nervously, tugging her books closer to her. “Are you alright?”

“I—y-yeah, sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his face with one hand. “Anne? Yeah, I remember you.” He glanced over her appreciatively. Right, the cute brunette that sat next to him with her low cut shirt and entirely too tight jeans. Dean had spent most of the class staring at her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to flip out there.”

“No it’s alright, I startled you,” she said. “I was going to ask you if you finished the homework assignment for today.”

“Ah crap—You know, I completely forgot about it,” Dean replied. He started walking with her towards the entrance to the school.

Anne blushed slightly as she started to walk closer to his side. “That’s alright, you can…you can copy off of mine if you want?”

Dean turned to face her, flashing his best Dean Winchester smolder smile. A very cute girl blushing at him while offering to let him copy her homework?

Perhaps this day wasn’t doomed to suck after all.

 

***

 

Dean cursed himself for ever allowing himself to think that.

“A group project in _math?_ What the hell for?”

Mr. Schwartz gave Dean a murderous look.

“I’m sorry, Winchester, did you want to teach my class instead?”

Dean closed his mouth.

“You’re going to be researching a famous historical mathematician and writing a report on how they have influenced the world of mathematics today,” Mr. Schwartz continued, handing out a paper packet to everyone. “It’s an easy damn A and not as scary as it sounds. Administration requires that I make you all do at least two group projects a year to make you ‘sociable’. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be. Now pair up, brats.”

A mad rush erupted in the room. People rushed to their friends’ sides, claiming dibs on who they wanted to work with. Dean would have been impressed at the chaotic order of it all if he hadn’t been so pissed that no one immediately rushed to him, not even that cute girl he hit on after school yesterday. She went straight to her friend and giggled nonstop.

After two minutes the entire class was divided, save for Dean it seemed. He sat grumpily in his seat, arms crossed and a scowl crossing his features.

“Is there anyone who doesn’t have a partner yet?” Mr. Schwartz asked, setting his hands on his desk.

Dean sat horrified as he saw Castiel, still sitting at the front and completely ignored by all of his classmates, silently raise his hand.

_Shit._

Dean clenched his jaw and barely raised his hand as well, hoping against all hope that someone else might raise theirs and save him. No one did.

Mr. Schwartz looked between the both of them and nodded. “Alright, you two work together. There, everyone have a partner now?”

_Double shit._

Dean made a protesting sound, but Mr. Schwartz’s glare cut him off. “What’s wrong, Winchester?”

“I—it’s just—can I work by myself? Is that an option?”

Castiel turned to give Dean a look that made the older teen’s stomach drop.

“What part of ‘sociable’ do you fail to comprehend, Winchester? You two have a lover’s spat going on or something?”

That class laughed. Dean balled his hand in to a fist.

“No,” he hissed.

“So then what’s the problem?”

Dean stared at Mr. Schwartz, trying to give him the best scathing stink eye he could possibly muster. He only lasted about five seconds before muttering under his breath, “Nothing.”

“Good, then I expect all of you to know who you are doing your report on by tomorrow, and have ready a rough draft by Monday. Now get to, uh, socializing. Or somehing.” Mr. Schwartz gave a wave of his hand to indicate he was done and sat down behind his desk, pulling out a book.

Neither Dean nor Castiel moved. They both sat there, staring each other down, daring the other to move first. Dean tapped his foot impatiently.

_Is this fucker seriously going to make me get up?_

Castiel gave him one last long stare before turning his gaze to the window next to him, his chin resting in his hand.

_He_ is _going to make me go to him. Fucker._

Dean grumbled to himself as he stood up and grabbed his chair with more force than necessary. The girl he’d hoped to partner up with was startled and stood back a bit as he dragged his chair up to the front of the room. He plopped down in to his seat and crossed his arms just as Castiel turned to look at him, feigning surprise.

“Alright, let’s get this over with, yeah?”

Castiel shook his head. “Have I upset you in some way, Dean?”

Dean scowled. “No. I just don’t do well on group projects is all,” he said as he shifted around uncomfortably. The junior nodded at him, though it still looked like he didn’t believe him one bit. “So who are we picking?”

Castiel opened a notebook and began writing something down. “I was thinking Euclid.”

“You who?”

“Euclid, Dean. He was a Greek mathematician who might have been a student of Aristotle, and he did a lot of work with prime numbers.”

Dean nodded as if he knew who the hell this kid was talking about. “Alright, alright. Just pick whoever you want, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Castiel nodded, continuing to write down notes. Dean watched him wordlessly for a few minutes, watching Castiel’s fingers grip his pencil somewhat awkwardly and the way his lips parted slightly as he wrote. He noticed Castiel’s hair had calmed itself somewhat since this morning, not looking quite as rustled, and the stern look of concentration Castiel was giving his paper made Dean avert his eyes nervously.

He gave a loud cough; Castiel broke away from his writing and looked up at him questioningly.

“So, uh,” he began, eyeing the words Castiel had written down. “We gonna have to meet up outside of school or something?”

“It’s likely,” Castiel answered gruffly.

Dean nodded. “So, when do you wanna…?”

“Friday is fine for me,” the junior said without hesitation. “After school. I’ll try and be quick, wouldn’t want to use up much of your time.”

Dean winced at the harshness of his tone. “Where?”

“We can go to the library; it’s open for an hour after class lets out.”

“Ugh, no man, I hate that place,” Dean groaned. He’d passed through it this morning to give Sammy a book he’d left in the car the day before and the way nasty look the librarian gave him made his skin crawl.

Castiel sighed, exasperated. “So what do you suggest then?”

“Well I still have to take Sammy home.” Dean cringed at what he was about to suggest. “So uh, how about my place? I can drop you off at your place after, it’s not that far.”

He immediately wanted to kick himself for even thinking it, much less making the offer.

Castiel was silent, obviously mulling the suggestion over in his head before he nodded and replied quietly, “Alright.”

“Un—unless you want to go to your place?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t think anyone will be home.” He looked away, signaling he didn’t want to continue on the subject. Dean obliged.

The two were quiet again; Castiel went back to his writing and Dean tapped his pencil on his knee. The awkward vibe between them made Dean jittery. He attempted to make small talk.

“So,” he began, “do you walk to and from school every day?”

Castiel didn’t look up. “Typically.”

“That’s a pretty far walk, isn’t it?”

The junior shrugged. “It’s not terrible.”

Dean nodded. The gears in his head set in motion, and before he knew it, words he didn’t want to say were rising up in his throat.

_Don’t you do it, Winchester._

“Well, your place isn’t that far from mine, you know.”

_Don’t you fucking do it._

Castiel finally looked up and met his gaze, his eyes narrowed slightly. Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

_Fuck, Winchester, you piece of—_

“I could give you a ride, you know,” Dean blurt out, his mind screaming at him to shut up, shut up, shut up! He shuts his mouth, his lips forming a thin line as he tried to hold back the sudden urge to withdraw the offer. “If you need it.”

Castiel stared at him for a long time, his eyebrows knit together in a very serious expression. He was trying to look right in to Dean, past his facade, to see if this was a trick or a malicious way of luring him in to some kind of trap. Dean couldn’t blame him—even he didn’t know why he was saying it. A person like him and a person like Castiel just didn’t…mix. They didn’t hang out and they weren’t friends and they just didn’t work. Castiel had every reason to be suspicious.

Whatever mal content Castiel had tried to find in his words must not have shown up, because before Dean knew it, the junior was shutting his binder and turning to face him completely.

“Alright. I would appreciate that.”

The bell rang, making Dean jump. Before he could stop himself, he’d grabbed his bag and bolted out of the room, only giving Castiel a nod in reply.

 

***

 

Dean spent most of gym absentmindedly following Coach Sims’ orders as he stretched and ran laps and cooled off on the bleachers next to the field. On one of his rests, Connor Wachowski saddled up right next to him and handed him a bottle of water.

“Winchester,” he grunted in greeting. Dean nodded to him, still lost in his thoughts. He didn’t even look up as the group of cute senior girls running past him in their inappropriately short uniforms.

“Sorry again about your brother, didn’t know it was him,” Connor continued, his head following the group of girls appreciatively. “I tend to shoot first and ask questions later with the people who hang out with that freak.”

Dean’s ears perked up. “Castiel?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s uh—what’s wrong with him exactly?”

“He’s just weird, Winchester. Pretty sure he’s a fag.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. Half of him wanted to shove Wachowski off the bleachers and say _So?_ Instead, he opened the water and took a long drink.

“Just don’t want him coming on to your little bro, you know?”

“Gross, man.”

Connor held his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying, dude. When it comes to Castiel you can’t really be too sure. In middle school he tried to fucking molest me in a closet. I think he’s in love with me or something.”

Dean had a very hard time picturing Castiel doing something like that. “He doesn’t seem all that bad.” He did believe that—but even so he was now feeling a little nervous. He’d now regretted ever offering to drive Castiel. What if he really was that kind of kid? He’d be near him and his brother, and come Friday night his whole family. Dean wasn’t sure if he was being unfair to the younger teen or if he had a right to be worried, but it still made him bristle a little with anger.

Connor just shrugged at him. “Hey,” he said, elbowing Dean to get his attention again. “My friend is having a party this weekend. Sort of a back to school get together or something. You should come. Cute girls, good booze. You’ll like it.”

Dean looked down at his hands, thinking about it. What could it hurt? He’d meet some of the people who lived in this god forsaken town, and maybe it would make his stay here a bit less unbearable. Plus, girls. Girls were always a good bonus. They would get his mind off of things—specifically blue eyed juniors with messy black hair who made him feel uncomfortable.

“Sure, why not?”

 

***

 

At the end of the day, Dean found Sam and Castiel talking with each other by their lockers. Dean was mildly irked that they seemed to be striking up a friendship. Castiel had his bag over his shoulder and was nodding in agreement with something Sam had told him. Sam patted his shoulder when they saw Dean approaching them.

“See ya later, Castiel,” he said.

“He’s coming with us,” Dean grunted as he shoved a book at Sam. “I found that in my bag, quit leaving your things everywhere.”

“Christ, Dean, what’s your problem?”

“He has to work on a project with me, and I wasn’t his first choice of partner,” Castiel deadpanned. Dean jerked his head to give Castiel a glare.

“Dean, quit being an ass,” Sam chided as he zipped up his backpack.

“Shut up, Samantha. I offered to give Castiel a ride from now on. Now hurry up.”

“Jerk.”

“ _Bitch._ ”

Dean turned and walked away from them, not checking to see if they were following.

When they reached the car, Dean wrenched his door open and settled in to his seat, watching as Castiel and Sam both placed their bags in the car before getting in themselves. Before anyone could strike up a conversation, he turned up the volume dial and blasted his mix tape where it had left off from this morning. Sam gave him an expected bitchface, but Castiel sat stoically listening to the music, like he was trying to decipher the lyrics. His head tilted slightly as the song reached the chorus.

“You look like you’ve never heard Metallica before, dude,” he chuckled, despite his irritated mood, as he took a sharp turn on to the road.

“I haven’t.”

Dean almost ran up on to a curb.

“You _haven’t?_ ”

“Dean—”

“No, Sammy, this is important. You can’t sit in Dean Winchester’s baby and then say you’ve never listened to fucking Metallica before.” He eyed Castiel through the rearview mirror. “You’ve seriously never listened to them? _At all?_ ”

“No, Dean.”

“Christ, well you are in for a treat,” he said, turning the volume up even loader. His bad mood temporarily forgotten, he sang along to the lyrics at the top of his lungs, totally off key.

Sam groaned audibly and leaned back in his seat.

Castiel couldn’t help the smile that crept to his lips. That unexplainable feeling of déjà vu snuck up on him once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Schwartz and Mr. Sims were both teachers I actually had in high school. Mr. Schwartz was an interesting guy, and a year after school he quit teaching and moved to Russia to be in a circus.
> 
> Sims ended up getting arrested for sleeping with students. Huh. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added a tag to the warnings --I changed an aspect of the story this chapter. Hopefully I won't have to add anymore. Sorry!
> 
> Anyone else have that problem when you're trying to undress really fast or something but your hands or head get caught in your shirt at the time when you most need them NOT to?
> 
> No? Are Jensen Ackles and I the only ones?
> 
> Alright then.

When Dean woke up, he knew instantly he was dreaming.

For one he wasn’t in his bed—hell, he wasn’t in a bed at all. He blinked at the sudden influx of light attacking his eyes. He adjusted, taking in his surrounding—a much too vivid blue sky, clouds hung too perfectly, a sparkling lake reaching as far as the eye could see. Yes, this was a dream. This was a painting he’d seen at a museum Sam had dragged him to once, a painting of a lonely man fishing on a dock on a beautiful summer day.

Fishing—yes the man had been fishing. That must have been why Dean found himself suddenly gripping tight on a pole of his own, a cast already thrown in to the water.

This wasn’t such a bad dream. This was quite serene—it was a life he imagined he’d have when he was older, after he’d lived all of his dreams and did everything he thought he wanted. After he travelled around the country and back again behind the wheel of his car; after he fell in love and broke hearts and decided his heart belonged to the road above all else. He would settle somewhere quiet and away from it all—just him and his fishing pole and an endless blue sky.

The footsteps behind him were a surprise—he definitely didn’t remember anyone else in that painting. They were heavy, making plenty of noise to alert Dean that he was not alone; it was like they weren’t trying to hide.

When he turned his head, he was surprised to find a shadow had fallen over the figure, a dark cloud suddenly blocking out the bright sun—it was almost as if his dream had realized there was an intruder and it did its best to hide the figure’s identity from him.

Dean couldn’t quite make out who it could be; it wasn’t anyone he recognized. He could see a long coat, a pair of black slacks and hands that hung by the figure’s side absentmindedly. And that tie—backwards; like the damn fool didn’t know how to properly tie one. The figure tried to say something but found that no words actually made it past his throat. He tried again, this time with more urgency, and Dean strained to hear it. He could see his name pass those lips, but he couldn’t get his mind to focus on the figure—focuson trying to identify him. His mind wouldn’t obey him. Everything was turning fuzzy around the edges; a loud ringing filled Dean’s ears.

And then the figure half leaned, half fell forward; strong hands gripped on to his shoulders like his life depended on it. The figure silently screamed his name one more time and shook him almost violently before Dean finally looked in to his now completely unmasked face. He saw the mess of dark hair, the eyebrows furrowed in a constant curious expression. And he saw the eyes—

He knew them.

“Cas?”

 

***

 

Castiel woke an hour before his alarm, dripping with sweat and his heart racing. He stared at the ceiling as he raced to remember the dream. He barely clung to the fragments, trying to replay the scene over and over in his head to commit it to memory.

He saw a lake and a dock, but the image was distorted and hazy. He saw his hands—aged somewhat but still his, he knew—reach for a leather jacket. He saw the green eyes alight with recognition. He heard the name—Cas. Cas.

And who is Cas?

He mouthed the name to himself over and over again, feeling the tingle of familiarity on his lips.

Cas.

He sat up in his bed, his fingers ghosting across his mouth. Running a hand through his damp hair, he closed his eyes in concentration. He pressed his palms against his eye sockets, trying with all his might to not let go of the memory. There was someone he knew—someone he knew very well. Green eyes he thought he should know; a trembling hand turning in to a firm grip and pulling, pulling, lifting. Why couldn’t he just _remember?_ It was so close, like he was trying to grab hold and his fingertips barely brushed it. Cas, Cas—

And then it snapped back to him, hitting him like a tidal wave right in his chest. He whipped his hands away, his eyes as wide as they could possibly go. His heart sped up.

Cas.

Castiel.

 

***

 

“Son, you alright?”

No, Dean felt like shit.

He’d had a rough night of tossing and turning, only to find that when he did finally fall asleep he was plagued by a fitful dream. The dream was like a far off memory—scattered and in pieces and Dean couldn’t even remember half of it. He’d woken up drenched in sweat and nauseated beyond belief. He spent the following hour hunched over the toilet vomiting in earnest. Every time he finished retching he would try to gather what little he _did_ remember and try to engrave them in to his brain. But when he did so, he immediately felt the bile rise in his throat and he was puking again; like his body was physically trying to prevent him from piecing together that night. All that was left in his mind was a forgotten name on the tip of his tongue and a sickness in his stomach.

Needless to say, he was in a pretty shitty mood, and he was hungry as hell from the emptying of his stomach. He had tried to convince his mom that no, really, he was legitimately sick today—but no dice.

Dean blinked repeatedly at his eggs. “I—Yeah, just thinking about stuff.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Sam snickered, taking a sip of his orange juice. Dean glared at him and flung a piece of sausage his way. Sam made a particularly girlish yelp that he would deny ever doing until the end of his days.

“Boys, stop bickering, it’s too early for that,” John sighed as both older brothers muttered ‘yes, sir’, returning to reading his paper and taking a large bite of toast. “I was asking you how school was going so far for you, Dean. I wanted to know how you are adjusting.”

Dean laughed to himself. “Adjusting,” he repeated.

“Have you made any friends?”

He wanted to say he’d made kind of sort of maybe friends with a kid with messy black hair and an uncomfortable stare and shitty taste in music; that he was going to drive him from now on and that he was going to show him good fucking bands—but the sentence died before it reached his tongue.

“Yeah, his name is Connor. He invited me over to hang out this weekend.”

“ _What?_ But that kid is an asshole!” Sam protested from across the table. “He was picking on Castiel and me!”

“Watch the language.”

“That was a misunderstanding. It’s been taken care of,” Dean replied, attempting to dismiss the conversation all together.

“Bullshit,” Sam muttered under his breath as he leaned back in his seat with a grunt.

“I said watch the language, Sam! Now, who is Castiel?”

“ _My_ friend,” Sam spat. He frowned at Dean. “He’s a junior and he’s cool. He’s coming over Friday so Dean and him and can work on a project. Also, we’re going to be taking him to from school from now on.”

John looked over at Dean, patting him on the shoulder. “That’s good of you, Dean.”

The elder brother snorted in response. “It’s not a big deal. His parents make him walk every day.”

Sam smirked. “His generosity may or may not have something to do with the fact that he almost ran Castiel over with the Impala.”

“You did _what?_ ”

“Oh my God, Sam, I’m going to _kill_ you,” Dean snapped as he made a start for his younger brother, but John’s glare made him pause.

“What did I tell you about pulling those kind of stunts, Dean?”

“No one got hurt, Dad. I was playing around.”

“Cars are not for _playing around_!”

“Dad—” Dean started to groan before the house phone rang noisily on the wall behind him. He turned to face it, glad for the distraction. Mary, who had been listening to the conversation from the counter with her hands firmly on her hips glared at them all to stop the argument before answering _“Winchester residence,”_ sweetly in to the phone.

Dean was distracted by the footsteps approaching his side, and when he turned to see the source of the noise he was met with Adam leaning over his plate with an enormous magnifying glass in his hand.

“How many germs do you think are on your eggs?”

“Dude, that’s gross, get off,” Dean grunted, annoyed. He tried to push his youngest brother away from him but the young Winchester held strong.

“It’s for class!”

“I don’t care, those are my eggs man!”

“They came out of a chicken’s butt you know!”

“Boys, that’s enough” John said with finality in his voice that made the two brothers quiet quickly. “Come on Adam, leave your brother alone and let him have one meal where you don’t make him worry about getting salmonella.”

Suddenly a phone was being pushed in to Dean’s face. He shooed is brother away with by pushing him away at the forehead and looked up to see his mother holding it out to him expectantly.

“It’s Castiel,” she said. Sam made a move to grab the phone, but she shook her head at him. “He asked for Dean. Go on,” she added as she pushed it closer to him.

Dean looked from her to the phone and back again, hesitantly. He took the phone and stood from the table, walking to the farthest corner of the kitchen, away from his family.

He paused for a few seconds before bringing the cordless phone to his ear and saying more quietly than he had intended, “Castiel?”

The hitch of breath that came from the other end was a surprise.

“Hello, Dean.”

“How did you get my number?” Dean asked, instantly regretting how grumpy it sounded.

“Student directory,” came the simple reply. Dean made a sound in acknowledgement and then the line went silent for a few seconds. Dean rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“So uh—what’s the word then? Something you need that couldn’t wait until I picked you up?”

“I was calling to say that I changed my mind about the arrangement,” Castiel said quietly. “I won’t be needing you to drive me after all. My uh—my parents, they’re going to take me from now on.”

Dean could sense that lie from a mile away.

“Are you sure? It’s not a problem, really,” Dean replied a little too hastily. He should be happy, shouldn’t he? He never really wanted to be the kid’s chauffer anyway.

“Again I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to bother you. It won’t be necessary.”

Dean’s heart sank the slightest bit.

“Alright, man. Well, I’ll still see you in math then.”

“I’m staying home today, I’m feeling…pretty ill.”

The elder Winchester felt his stomach turn queasy instantly. “Yeah, I’m not feeling too hot either. Might be something going around,” he laughed shakily, absentmindedly trying to keep the conversation from ending.

The awkward silence still fell upon them anyway. Dean looked up to see Mary pointing to her wristwatch, telling him to get a move on.

“I should let you go. I’ll see you around Dean.”

“Yeah, man. Still—” Dean coughed nervously. “Still on for Friday?”

The line was silent. Castiel sighed heavily. “Yes, Dean.”

“That sounds—that sounds good. Yeah. See ya.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the disconnect button quickly before he tried to say anything else.

Fine.

What did Dean care? This arrangement had only lasted for a day, there was no reason to feel somewhat slighted. Sure, Dean _had_ gone through the trouble of making a new mix tape just for Castiel to listen to on these rides to slowly ease him in to the joys of AC/DC and Metallica and Zep and, you know, all the good music. Really, what kind of human being would he be if he didn’t show Castiel that joy in life?

Dean turned over the tape in his pocket absentmindedly.

Fine.

He hung the phone back up on the wall with more force than really necessary and grabbed his keys. “C’mon Sammy, let’s go,” he called gruffly as he grabbed his bag.

“What did Castiel want?” His brother asked as he followed.

Dean gave Mary a quick kiss on the cheek and a nod at his father before walking out in to the garage. He opened the door to his car and turned the engine on quickly. Sam cautiously followed him, wary of the angry vibe his older brother was giving off.

“Dean?” he asked slowly as he shut the passenger door.

“We’re not picking him up anymore, his parents are taking him from now on.”

“Wha—Castiel?” Sam asked, and then his face immediately fell in to bitchface #79, it was one of his favorites to use. “Dean, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit!” Dean bit back. “It’s not a big deal, Sam. You’ll still see him every day at school.”

“Seems like it’s a big deal to you,” Sam mumbled under his breath, staring out of his window even as Dean shot him a look.

“Well it’s _not_.”

“Sure, now who’s gonna listen to your stupid mix tape?”

Dean whipped the tape out from his pocket slammed it in to the tape player. “ _You_ ,” he answered with a hiss as he turned the volume up all the way, ignoring the epic tantrum Sam was throwing next to him.

 

***

 

Castiel stayed lying in his bed, his head at the footboard, for two hours after he hung up with Dean. His parents hadn’t asked if he was staying home, nor had they come up to check on him before leaving for work, but Castiel hadn’t really wanted to explain it to them anyways. He kept the phone clutched in his hand, the student directory laying open at Sam Winchester’s contact information as he stared up at the ceiling of his room, jumping from thought to thought as he fought to quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

He finally rolled out of bed to go to the bathroom and attempt lunch despite the sick feeling. He made it four bites in to his turkey and lettuce sandwich before he gave up and tossed it in the fridge for later.

When he’d called the Winchester residence, his plan was to talk to Sam, explain that his parents had decided to take him instead (which was an obvious lie, but he hoped no one would notice), and then let that be the end of it.

Instead, when Mary Winchester, a woman whom Castiel had never met but he already liked her from her kind voice alone, asked who Castiel was calling for he found himself blurting out _Dean_ before he could stop himself. And when he tried to change his mind and ask for Sam instead, Mary was already handing the phone over.

And when Castiel heard Dean answer with his name, Castiel’s stomach did a flip and he instantly felt the bile rise in his throat. He tried to push the sick feeling down and attempt a normal conversation with the boy. He’d barely succeeded in not stumbling over words and not thinking about how Dean’s voice sounded eerily similar to the voice in the dream. The voice was an octave or so lower for sure, like the man in his dream was quite a bit older, but it had a similarity all the same—and that made Castiel wary. And worst of all, he thought, he didn’t know _why_. _Why_ did it make him wary?

Castiel shook his head at the thought and sat on his bed.

Eventually he decided it was best to distract himself during the lonely day with schoolwork. Perhaps he could work on the math paper, he suggested to himself, as he pulled out his math notebook. If he finished most of it now, he wouldn’t have to spend much time working on it Friday at the Winchester household. Castiel really didn’t think it a good idea to be around them right now, not with that dream still hanging in his mind. He needed a few days to think. He needed a few days to put himself back together.

Castiel ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. He had liked the rides in Dean’s car. He didn’t know exactly how to describe the feeling it gave him besides that he felt so, so… _at home_ in that car. It was more of a home than this own ever was, and he’d lived here his entire life. And he felt silly for even thinking that too—he’d taken two or three rides in that car at most, right? But the feeling was unshakeable; and maybe _that_ was part of the reason Castiel felt wary around the brothers. It was that feeling of _why is this so important to me_ when there was no reason to feel an attachment at all.

But calling to cancel the carpooling felt like the only solution to the growing worry pounding at the back of Castiel’s head. He didn’t like the idea, but he felt it was what was best. He couldn’t understand the fire beginning to catch within him, so instead he decided to stamp it out.

Castiel shook his head once more and sat all of his books out on his mattress. He opened up his notebook and began work on the report.

Euclid. What did he know about Euclid?

He wrote for a solid thirty minutes straight, looking through his textbook for any information he thought would go well with the paper. He fingered through most of the book, finding little of what he needed. On his bookshelf sat a set of the Encyclopedia Britannica, a gift his parents had sent to him for Christmas while they spent the holiday in Africa travelling. Castiel stood and headed for the shelf, careful to avoid some of the knick knacks from his parents’ travels that he had set on the edges of some of the shelves. He found the volume he was looking for and pulled it out gingerly, cursing when his wrist brushed against a wooden carving of a tribal warrior. He attempted to catch it with his free hand, but it fell through his clumsy fingers and hit the ground, bouncing twice before rolling right underneath his bed.

Castiel let out an exasperated sigh and set the large book on his bed. The floorboard beneath him creaked slightly as he bent over on his hands and knees, trying to eye how far under his bed the object had rolled. The underbelly of his bed was littered with boxes of school work from years previous and misplaced socks and a jacket he had been searching at least a year for. There was his flute that he had played in middle school and given up on fairly quickly, and an old baseball bat from the sport he had given up on even quicker. He spotted where the mini statue had stopped its journey towards the far wall, in between two boxes both labeled _Castiel, fifth grade_.

Grunting, he laid down on his stomach and reached his hand out as far as it would go, not even coming close to the object. He pushed around some of the boxes and pulled himself forward even more, the top half of his body now underneath the bed.

His fingers brushed over the statue and he made a grab for it, but the motion pushed it back even further. Castiel sighed again and grit his teeth in frustration as he pushed aside more boxes.

And that’s when he saw it.

There was a glimmer of silver that caught his eye. The object was mostly hidden under a pile of socks, but the boy could barely see the pointed edge of what looked like a knife.

He quickly grabbed the statue and tossed it behind him before pulling himself under the bed once more with both of his arms. Intrigued, he began pulling the socks from the pile to unearth the mysterious object. He was fairly sure he’d never left anything like _that_ underneath his bed.

When he finally grasped the object and pulled it free, he backed his way out from under the bed, hitting his head on the frame but largely ignoring it. He rubbed the sore spot on his skull absentmindedly as he stared at the object now resting in his hand.

It was a blade of some manner—the handle and sharp edge, all of it, was bright silver. It was longer than a simple kitchen knife; it seemed more like a short sword than anything. He tossed it ever so slightly in his palm, feeling the weight of it. It felt so—so _natural_ in his grasp, much more natural than the flute or the baseball bat had ever felt. There was something very regal about the look of the weapon, or so Castiel thought; it must have been a weapon of some kind, the way it was shaped and smooth and devoid of any kind of decoration.

But it also felt very, very ominous in a way. Castiel felt a great wariness wash over him as he switched the blade from one hand to the other. He sat on the ground with the object held in his grasp, his attention focused on it for what seemed like an hour.

When had he acquired this thing? Perhaps it was a gift from his parents; maybe they had bought it while on their trip in Africa and he didn’t remember getting it. Then again, how would be forget receiving something like _this?_ It could have been a tribal weapon, a sacrificial blade of some kind from the beauty of it. It was no ordinary weapon of battle, that much he could tell. It was sort of...terrifyingly beautiful.

He turned it over and over again in his hands, trying to find some kind of serial number or manufacturer on it. Nothing.

Castiel stood up and walked over to the dresser, opening one of the drawers and placed the blade inside. It fit snugly in the compartment and he shut it carefully. The feeling of uneasiness immediately drained from him, and he almost doubled over with the strange relief he felt. He’d find a place to display it later, he thought to himself as he picked up the wooden statue from where he’d tossed it on the floor and placed it back on his shelf.

 

 

***

 

Despite still feeling sick, Castiel decided the next morning when he woke up that it was best not to miss another day of school. Thankfully his night had stayed relatively dreamless and for that he was thankful. If he kept his head down and stayed quiet the day could pass relatively fast for him.

On his walk to school he took the slightly longer way around to avoid possibly being seen by Dean again on the sidewalk by the road. This path involved walking through the wooded area between his house and the park that lay right next to the school, but he felt it was a small price to pay to reach school with twigs in your hair and mud caked on to your shoes.

When the bell for first period rang, Castiel was already in the class room with his book open and his homework on Mr. Schwartz’s desk. He rested his chin in his hand and stared out of the window, consciously choosing to avoid the stream of students that filed in. Girls were chatting and giggling loudly to each other and the boys talked about a big party this weekend, and Castiel just wanted to bury his face in his arms and fall asleep. In fact, when he made the move to do just that, he felt a hand place firmly on his shoulder and it made him tense in a knee jerk reaction. He knew exactly whose hand it was.

“Hello, Dean,” he murmured without looking up. He felt the grip tighten the very smallest amount before letting go. It made his heart flutter.

“Hey,” Dean replied quietly. “Hope you’re feeling better, man.”

Castiel finally looked up at him. “Same to you, Dean.”

“You alright?”

Castiel shrugged. “Bad morning.”

“Ah.”

Dean stood there for a few moments, both of the boys silent and avoiding eye contact. The older boy shifted on his feet a few times before clearing his throat. “So tomorrow, since you’re coming over to my place—that uh, that is still going on right?” Dean asked, and he almost sighed with relief when Castiel nodded his head. He thankfully stopped himself. “Since you’re coming over to my place, am I gonna drive you from here or are your parents bringing you?”

“I can ride with you,” the younger boy replied before hastily adding, “if that’s alright with…you.”

Dean shot him a lopsided smirk. Castiel noticed how Dean's smile made his nose peppered with freckles wrinkle ever so slightly.

Freckles. He'd never noticed Dean had freckles before. He must not have been looking all that well. No, wait. There was a reason for that; there is no reason to know whether or not someone has freckles. They're damn freckles. Castiel blinked, trying to focus his attention somewhere else.

Dean clapped him on the back once, but his hand still lingered. “Of course. Just meet up with Sam after school in the senior lot. Cool?”

Castiel couldn’t help the breathy laugh that escaped him. “Cool,” he replied.

At that moment Mr. Schwartz walked in through the door, his tie loose and his dress shirt wrinkled something awful.

“Yes, yes, I’m late. Everyone in your seats and shut up, open your books to unit two,” he grumbled as he began writing down problems on the board.

Castiel managed to get halfway through the class before giving in to the urge to steal one glance at his friend—friend? Was Dean a friend?—in the back of the class. To his surprise, as soon as he turned around he found Dean staring straight back at him, almost as if he was in a trance and had no idea where he was looking.

Both of their gazes widened at the eye contact and they both looked away quickly.

Castiel felt his cheeks begin to catch fire, and he buried his hand in his arm, completely ignoring Mr. Schwartz’s glare from the board. He knew this stupid feeling; he knew what this was the beginning symptom of. And he didn’t like it. He wouldn’t allow it.

He steeled himself and looked back up at the board in earnest, trying his damndest to pay attention and ignore the sharpness in his chest and the shaking of his fingers.

_Nope,_ he told himself, _not going to happen._

 

 

***

 

A crush.

Castiel could have punched himself. He shifted his books to his other hand as he made his way down the locker hall.

A crush. Castiel didn’t get crushes. He didn’t even _like_ people most of the time. The only crushes he’d ever had was once in third grade on a pretty blonde girl named Darla who was his partner in the spelling bee, and then again in seventh grade on the gym teacher. Both of those were squashed fairly quickly because Castiel simply _did not get crushes_. They were a waste of time and only distracted him at the worst of times. Like today, he couldn’t even recall what the math lesson had really been about.

It had to have been that stupid dream—it was making him think things about Dean Winchester that he never would have thought otherwise.

_Why_ did his mind have to do this to him every time he found someone he halfway didn’t despise? Alright, despise is a bit dramatic—but it’s not like people made much of an effort to befriend Castiel either.

Castiel angrily yanked open his locker and threw his English textbook in with little care. He stared down at the chemistry book like he was daring it to upset him in any way.

“Cassie.”

Castiel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He tensed but grabbed his chemistry textbook anyway in an attempt to ignore the familiar person behind him.

“Hey,” the voice hissed again, and instantly Castiel’s book was smacked right out of his hand. “I’m talking to you, faggot.”

Castiel stood and turned around to face the voice, his shoulders squared and his glare venomous.

“I’m not in the mood right now, Connor.”

“Oh, I’m _so sorry_ ,” Connor sneered, his hands going up in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to bother the princess.”

“What do you want? I’m not in the mood to indulge you in your gay panic today,” Castiel deadpanned, leaning over to pick up his book without making eye contact.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

 Castiel gave him the tiniest hint of a smirk. “I said—”

Connor’s hands shot out and grabbed him by the collar, roughly shoving him against the lockers.

“I know what you just fucking said, you waste of fucking space,” he whispered, his face inches from Castiel’s, who didn’t flinch.

“I’m not sure if you know how this works,” Castiel began slowly, “but to intimidate someone you have to actually _be_ intimidating, and I’m not afraid of you, Connor.”

“No?” Connor’s lips curled in to a wicked smile. “How easily I could change that.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. It was all the opening that Connor needed to pull a fist back and land a punch straight in to Castiel’s stomach.

The air rushed out of Castiel’s lungs and he doubled over as far as he could while still pinned by Connor. There were a few collective gasps from the crowd in the hallway and one cheer for a fight, but those noises were drowned out as another punch was landed to Castiel’s right ear and his brain was filled with a ringing noise as he hit the ground face first. He could feel the flow of blood leave his nose, but he still looked surprised when he wiped at it and saw it on his hand.

He was quickly on his feet, his gaze holding steady as he wiped at his bleeding nose again. It was all over his sweater and neck now. The smirk on Connor’s face made him see red.

He really liked that sweater, too.

The shock on Connor’s face as Castiel’s fist connected with his jaw was something the junior would never forget, and the surprise made Connor fall back. The bully barely caught himself on the lockers behind him. Castiel gripped his collar and pulled him back, only to slam him in to the lockers like he’d just been minutes before.

“I said I wasn’t _in the mood_.”

“You faggot, get the hell off of me,” Connor growled as he grabbed Castiel’s collar as well and slammed his forehead as hard as he could against the junior’s. Castiel grunted in pain and stumbled back, but was able to land an elbow right to Connor’s nose that connected with a satisfying crack. Connor yelped in pain and blindly grabbed for Castiel, finding his hair and yanking him to the ground in front of him.

Both of Connor’s hands grabbed around Castiel’s neck and he squeezed hard, his face nearly going purple with rage. He was leaning over Castiel, who was now kneeling with his hands on the ones around his neck, grunting for breath and gritting his teeth. He felt the hands push his face in to the lockers, and Castiel felt one of the locks tear his skin right on his cheek. The impact disoriented him, and it gave Connor enough time to slam his face back in to the lockers once more before Castiel started to see stars. Castiel knew that somehow eventually this is how it would end—in a hallway surrounded by a bunch of bloodthirsty teenagers cheering a fight on and an angry hormonal kid, who may or may not be having a sexual identity crisis, beating the ever loving shit out of him. This wasn’t so unexpected; he’d just wished it’d been a little more original.

The hands grabbing on to Connor were a surprise, though.

“Get off of him!” Castiel recognized Sam’s voice instantly, even if he couldn’t exactly see him through the black spots clogging his vision.

He was able to make out Sam grabbing on to him and pulling him away from the bully and a pair of large hands pushing Connor in to the lockers with a force that even made Castiel wince.

“The fuck, Winchester!” Connor barked, his hands going up subconsciously in surrender before he could stop them.

“The hell is wrong with you man?” Castiel could hear Dean’s voice hiss as he slammed Connor against the lockers once more for good measure. “What the hell did he do to you?”

“I told you, dude, he’s a fucking faggot!”

“SO?” Dean replied, shoving Connor to the ground with a grunt.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam asked him worriedly, placing one hand on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Castiel attempted to nod, but the action made him feel dizzy and he immediately began shaking his head instead. With help from Sam he made it to his feet and wiped an arm across his face experimentally, wincing at the amount of blood that rubbed off.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the nurse,” Sam said soothingly as he began leading Castiel away from the lockers.”

“The nurse ain’t going to do shit, Sammy,” Dean said, dragging Connor to his feet again by the collar. “I’m going to take him home.”

“But school—”

“Not the time Sammy! If the teachers find him like this they’ll suspend him. Now let’s go.” Dean let go of Connor and the bully stumbled a bit before finding his footing and glaring up at the elder Winchester.

“What the fuck is your problem, Winchester? You outta your mind?”

Dean grabbed him and pulled his face close, his eyes lit with rage. “You stay the fuck away from him. You stay away from him, from my brother, and from _me_.” He pushed him back and grabbed Castiel’s forgotten chemistry book on the floor. “If I catch you bothering him again I’ll come after you Wachowski, mark my words.”

“What the fuck ever man, I won’t touch your boyfriend again. Didn’t realize you swung that way—” Connor’s comment was cut off when Dean landed a fist to his eye socket and knocked him back against the lockers. Without another word Dean nodded to Sam, who flung Castiel’s arm around him and began helping him along towards the exist.

“You’re uninvited to that party Winchester!” Connor wailed after him, holding a hand to his face. Dean only rolled his eyes.

Once out in the parking lot, Castiel’s head had cleared significantly and he was able to walk mostly on his own without becoming too dizzy.

“Put him shotgun,” Dean said to Sam as he unlocked the doors and Sam complied. “Now go back inside and get all of our things, and I’ll pick you up at the end of the day.”

“What? No, Dean, I’m coming with you guys—”

“Sam, he’s going to need his stuff and you have his combination. Plus, if mom finds out you skipped school she’ll have a fit,” he said sternly as he shoved the chemistry book in to his younger brother's empty hand.

“But _you’re_ skipping!”

“Mom expects that! Now just do as I say Sam, I’ll pick you up after school. Wachowski won’t bother you anymore, but watch your back anyway, you hear me?” Dean barked at his younger brother. Sam huffed and eased Castiel in to the front seat, glaring at Dean the whole time.

He patted Castiel on the shoulder. “Hope you’re alright, buddy,” he said as he shut the door and headed back towards the school. Castiel nodded in response and Dean slid in to the driver’s seat.

Castiel coughed, trying to dislodge some of the blood that had trickled down his throat. His lip was split and his cheek had a gash, but his nose was the injury still bleeding profusely. Dean reached behind the passenger seat and found an old shirt he wore while working on the Impala and handed it to him. Castiel nodded in thanks and leaned his head back, putting the shirt up to his nose to stifle the blood flow.

“You okay, man?” Dean said as he started the engine. He pulled out of the parking lot before any administration could come out to stop him.

Castiel nodded, blinking slowly. His vision was back to normal now. “You don’t have to help me, you know.”

“Dude, I wasn’t going to let you just get beat on by that dumbass,” he snorted.

Castiel smirked. “I can handle him, really. He just got in a good shot.”

Dean eyed him. “Yeah, I saw. You held your own pretty well.”

“You seem surprised.”

“Just didn’t peg you for the brawling type,” Dean chuckled, turning on to the main road. Castiel just shrugged. “I’m going to take you back to your place and get you cleaned up. Cool?”

Castiel leaned his head against the window and didn’t respond. This was exactly what he didn’t need—right when he realized he had a crush Dean freaking Winchester had to come in and save him like a messed up knight in shining armor. He really could have handled it; he didn’t need Dean’s help.

He nodded anyway.

The drive to Castiel’s house was short, and Castiel fully expected his parents not to be home when he got there. In fact—he expected that if the school called about his absence his parents probably wouldn’t care if they bothered to answer the phone at all. It made him bristle with anger as the adrenaline still pumped through his veins. Dean pulled in to the driveway and turned off the engine. Before Castiel could stop him the passenger door was opening and Dean was pulling him out, flinging Castiel’s arm over his shoulder.

“I’m fine, really, I can walk,” Castiel protested, pulling the shirt away from his nose that was now clotted enough not to bleed.

“Just being safe, dude,” Dean replied gruffly. Castiel shook his head and fished around in his pocket for his keys and handed them to the older boy. Dean unlocked the door and pushed it open with his foot.

Dean let out a low whistle. “Damn, Castiel, you’ve got a nice place here,” he commented as he looked around the open floor plan and up at the small chandelier hanging above the front door.

Castiel shrugged. “Doesn’t count for much if you’re the only one in it.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “Parents not home much?” The junior nodded in response. “So then how are they driving you?”

Castiel froze. He’d been caught. “They—they uh—”

“Dude, whatever, you don’t have to lie to me. If you don’t want a ride just say so.”

The younger boy winced at the hurt tone and he hastily tried to cover himself. “It’s not that. Really.” Dean brought him in to the kitchen and set him down on one of the chairs at the dining table. He was about to say something else when Dean interrupted him.

“Where’s your first aid kit?”

Castiel’s head snapped up. “I—I’ve got it from here, really. You don’t have to stay.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Dean smirked, grabbing the bloody shirt from Castiel’s hands. “Now where is it?”

Castiel closed his eyes. “Under the sink.”

Dean turned to the kitchen and opened the cupboard below the main sink, rummaging around for the kit. Castiel sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand, grimacing at the situation he’d gotten himself in to.

He heard Dean make a triumphant noise as he saw the older teen pull out the emergency kit from the cupboard and stand back up, turning it over in his hands. He opened it on the table and began rummaging through the contents.

“So what’s the deal with you and Wachowski, huh? You guys got some serious bad blood between each other.”

Castiel shrugged. “There was an…incident. A while ago. I think you remember me talking about it.”

Dean nodded. “Something about a janitor’s closet.”

“Right. Well, Connor and I used to be friends, you know. We played on the baseball team together very briefly.”

“Oh, you like baseball?”

Castiel chuckled. “Not very good at it. Anyways, so one day Connor asked me if I was gay—and I asked him why he wanted to know,” Castiel continued as Dean pulled out a bottle of peroxide. Dean paused and looked at him, his eyes questioning.

“Are you?”

Castiel stared at him for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed slightly. Sensing only curiosity in Dean’s voice, he shrugged. “I’ve found myself liking people of both genders, so I don’t really know. I don’t tend to think about it.” He watched Dean’s reaction carefully, inwardly sighing with relief when Dean didn’t punch him. It was a reaction he was used to expecting.

Dean nodded in response, biting his lower lip slightly as he poured some peroxide on a wad of cotton. “So then what happened?”

“He told me he was having…thoughts. About me. Thoughts that he normally only had about girls.” Castiel hissed quietly as Dean pressed the cotton to the cut on his cheek. “We were in seventh grade, so I just thought he was being curious. I told him that I only thought of him as a friend, but if he needed to talk to me about it he could.”

“I’m going to go ahead and guess that that didn’t work out so well,” Dean laughed half-heartedly as he  pulled out another ball of cotton and poured peroxide over it. He pressed this one to Castiel’s busted lip. Castiel backed away from the touch ever so slightly, hoping that Dean thought it was from the pain and not from the shock of Dean's knuckles brushing his mouth. His heart fluttered in his chest and he could feel his cheeks starting to warm.

_Dammit._

This was absolutely the last thing he needed right now. He coughed and turned his attention back to the story. “No, not at all. He kept trying to get me alone in the locker room or in the hallway and ask me things or put his hands on me. I didn’t like it, but I decided not to say anything. One day he got fed up, I suppose, because he asked me to meet him by the lockers after school. And against my better judgment, I said okay.”

Dean nodded and put the bloody cotton ball aside, handing Castiel a wipe to clean the blood off of his face with. Castiel obliged and wiped all over his face and neck, wincing when he brushed over the cut on his cheek.

“So I meet him there, and he tries to put his hands on places I was less than comfortable with. I might have overreacted, but I pushed him away and told him to keep his hands off of me, and that I didn’t like him like that. He got annoyed very quickly and pushed me towards the janitor’s closet nearest us. I fought with him, but admittedly pretty half-heartedly; he was my friend, and I didn’t want to hurt him, and I thought I could still talk with him. When we got inside he tried to force me to touch him and I punched him in the face, sort of as a knee jerk reaction. He fell away and I escaped, and told the first teacher I saw. I still feel bad about it, I still think I could have talked him out of it.”

Dean was now applying gauze and surgical tape to the gash on Castiel’s face, and Castiel found himself leaning in to the touch ever so slightly against his will.

“So then what?”

“His parents were called, and I had to tell a school board all about what happened. They suspended him for a week but he didn’t come back to school until the next year. As far as I know he was homeschooled until the summer when he was sent away to camp.” Castiel’s gaze hardened. “That kind of camp where the motto is ‘We can pray the gay away’, if you catch my drift.”

“Ouch,” Dean whispered, shaking his head. He moved to grab the Neosporin in the box. “So he came back the next year healed with Jesus’ love and very, very bitter, I’m guessing.”

Castiel nodded. “Pretty much, the whole school knew about what he did. I tried to talk to him, tell him I was sorry for what had happened, but all he did was call me a fag and pick fights with me. Eventually he upgraded to calling me a fag as well. I was pretty upset about it for a while.”

“I’m sorry man, that sucks,” Dean said, his voice low with genuine sympathy. “Hold still for a sec.”

Castiel did as he was told, but his eyes went wide when he saw Dean squeeze some Neosporin out of the tube on to his thumb and reach for Castiel’s face. His gaze never left the thumb as it brushed across the split part of his lip, rubbing the gel gently over it. He could feel himself stop breathing. Dean’s eyes were half closed, staring down at his own hand as he applied the gel. Once he finished, Castiel’s heart seemed to stop as the thumb still lingered, ghosting across his mouth.

He reached his own hand up to his lip, muttering much too late, “I—I can do that.”

Dean blinked rapidly, like he was being pulled out of his thoughts and he immediately pulled his hand away.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, looking away and wiping his hand on his jeans. He immediately busied himself with packing up the kit. “You hurt anywhere else?”

“Just bruised, I’ll be fine.”

Dean nodded and slipped on closing the kit twice. Castiel eyed him warily.

“You should change out of that and wash it,” Dean suddenly said, pointing at Castiel’s bloody sweater.

“It’s ruined by now, no reason to worry about it,” the younger teen replied.

Dean shook his head. “Fill the sink up with peroxide and water and soak it for a few minutes, then rub the spot in the peroxide until it’s mostly out. The washer will do the rest.”

Castiel looked up, meeting his eye. “How do you know that?” He smirked.

“Look, this isn’t my first fight, alright? After the third or fourth my mother told me that I’d have to start getting the blood out myself,” he laughed, crossing his arms.

Castiel chuckled as well, and before he could stop himself he was instinctively grabbing and pulling his sweater over his head. He was only halfway through pulling it off that he realized how _stupid_ could he be to pull off his clothes in front of Dean freaking Winchester, that kid he had a stupid crush ( _maybe crush_ , he reminded himself angrily) on. But by then the sweater was stuck on his head, and the harder he pulled the more the sweater seemed to tighten around his skull. When he finally pulled it free he winced as it slid over his cuts and shook his head to dislodge his hair from the garment. He immediately made a grab for the peroxide and pulled the sweater to his chest like an embarrassed girl.

_Stop, you’re making it worse, Castiel. Stop this._

He heard Dean swallow and it made him look up and meet Dean’s gaze. The older teen was staring at him, his gaze wide but his green eyes lit up with a fire Castiel had not seen on anyone before. It only lasted a long second before Dean was clearing his throat and looking away, rubbing the back of his head nervously and tapping his foot.

“You seem good now, so I think I’m gonna go,” Dean said hoarsely, not looking back at Castiel.

The junior wanted to ask him to stay, wanted to thank him for the help and for, well, _caring_ , but his words were lost and all he managed to get out in reply was, “Yeah, sounds… sounds cool. Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean ran a hand over his face and turned around, walking back towards the front door before he stopped and turned back to face Castiel again. “I’ll see you around, rest up and stay out of trouble, Cas.”

Castiel froze; his veins filled with ice and he dropped the peroxide bottle on to the tile of the kitchen. Dean seemed to freeze up as well, his eyes bulging and his hand twitching as he stared at the floor like it had just grown six heads.

Dean looked up at him quickly, his eyes bearing in to him like he was trying to find an answer as to _why he had just said that_ in Castiel’s gaze. His face was contorting with so many expressions all at once that Castiel might have found it somewhat comical in any other situation. Dean opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, closed it, then opened and closed it once more before he turned right on his heel, muttered an very incoherent goodbye and half-ran out of the front door, closing it behind him with a frantic slam. Castiel flinched at the noise but otherwise made no other move until he heard the Impala come to life and pull out of the driveway with a loud squeal.

Castiel looked around the room in shock, trying to find his breath again and calm his heart  as it beat rapidly in his chest. He reached down and picked up the peroxide bottle and set it and his sweater on the table.

That was the voice in his dream. He remembered it. Sure Dean's was a little higher, but it was the voice all the same. He was sure of it. He said that name the same way too, with that tiny inflection and that slight whistle on the s. He name Castiel knew belonged to him even though no one had ever called him it before in his life. Dean and the man in his dream were the only ones to ever say it.

Cas.


	5. Chapter 5

The knocking at the door jerked Castiel out of his fitful slumber. After he’d changed his clothes and dressed his wounds once more, he had sunk down on to the living room couch and had drifted off almost immediately. He had briefly wandered back in to the dream by the lake, but was pulled out before he could get his bearings. For that, at least, he was thankful. The knocking was soft and sounded somewhat hesitant, and Castiel briefly considered not answering it.

After the knocking continued a little louder, he punched his head back on the pillow in frustration and finally lifted himself from the couch with a groan. He was sore, but not nearly as sore as he thought he’d be. He was sure he’d taken a beating that warranted more pain, but it could just mean he’d be feeling it way more in the morning.

The knocking grew a little more intense and Castiel winced as he shuffled towards the door. He didn’t know who could possibly want something at this hour, and his parents had a key; though he was sure they were home by now and had retired to their beds without waking him. For half a moment he wondered if Dean had come back, and the thought made him freeze up again. It had taken him an hour to shake off the icy feeling that jolted through him when Dean had left earlier in the afternoon; after the sound of his raspy voice saying _Cas_ had become a far off memory that he couldn’t even remember properly. Only after that was he able to finally slide his eyes shut and take a well deserved nap.

When he reached the door, he glanced through the peep hole with a slight air of trepidation. The sigh that escaped him was one of relief. The brother was a surprise, but not unwelcome.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said after opening the door. Sam stood there with Castiel’s bag slung over his shoulder and soft smile crossing his face, though the smile turned to a noticeable wince at the bruises Castiel was sporting.

“Hey, Castiel,” Sam replied and dropped the bag to his hand, holding it out for Castiel to take. “Oh, were you asleep? Did I wake you up?” He asked with a small laugh when he saw Castiel rub his face tiredly.

“I drifted off.”

“Well, I brought your stuff. I put all your books in there; I wasn’t sure what you might need.”

Castiel glanced over the younger Winchester’s shoulder to see the familiar black car sitting in the driveway. Dean sat behind the wheel, his gaze fixed intently on the dial of the radio. He didn’t look up. In fact, he seemed to be staring at that dial far longer than necessary.

“Thank you,” Castiel said as he took the bag from Sam, his eyes not leaving Dean.

Sam glanced between the two curiously. “Ev-everything go okay today? Dean’s been acting shifty ever since he picked me up. Something happen after you guys left school?”

Dean seemed especially interested in the passenger seat at that moment. When he got fed up staring at whatever he could find in the car that looked convincing enough, he ducked his head out of view instead. Castiel blinked. He finally broke his concentration and looked back to Sam. “No, not that I know of.”

Castiel wanted nothing more than for Dean to look at him and never look at him again at the same time.

“Ah well, if he gives you any trouble you have my permission to punch him. He can be a real jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t usually mean to be,” Sam chuckled. His expression hardened slightly when his eyes fell on Castiel’s still swollen lip. “Hey man, your lip,” he said, somewhat alarmed. He gestured to it. “Wasn’t it busted way worse this afternoon? It’s nearly healed.”

Castiel brought his hand up to his bottom lip and brushed it with the pads of his fingers. The skin where his split lip used to be was still sore but completely smooth. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Huh. Must have been the blood – made it look worse than it was. That’s good at least,” Sam mused, smiling, but the way he tightened his lips afterwards said he didn’t really believe what’d he’d said.

Both of the boys jumped when a sudden cry of the Impala’s horn interrupted the silence between them. Sam turned around furiously and shouted, “Christ, Dean! I’m coming!” He turned back to Castiel and added apologetically, “I should get going. Dean’s in a mood. Will you be in school tomorrow?” Castiel nodded. “Good,” Sam continued, “I’ll see you then. Oh, and after school too, that’s still on right?” Castiel opened his mouth to say something – protest, perhaps? Say no? – when the horn blared again.

“I’m coming! Holy shit!” Sam bounded down the driveway and wrenched open the passenger side door, cursed once or twice before getting in and giving Dean a face that made his older brother shoot him a very annoyed look back. Sam said something to the older teen and gave a nod in Castiel’s direction, but Dean ignored it and began backing out of the driveway a little too fast for comfort.

Castiel stood in his doorway for a moment, not completely sure why, and stared at his bag as the Impala pulled away. Once the sound of the old car was completely out of his ear shot, he turned and closed the door without looking back. It wasn’t until his heart calmed down that he even realized how fast it was beating.

 

***

“Cas.”

The name rolled off the tip of Dean’s tongue effortlessly; a muscle memory of sorts, like he’d said it a million times before, even though he knew he hadn’t. The word felt so familiar on his tongue but foreign to his brain.

Dean shook his head, trying to shake the name from his mind. He was lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling, tossing a stress ball absentmindedly in to the air and catching it with one hand. He was feeling sleepy from having gorged himself at dinner and abandoned Sam to do the dishes by himself. _Promise I’ll do double dish duty next week Sammy, just gotta clear my head._ Sam acted annoyed but allowed him the escape anyway, and Dean was thankful. Sam knew when Dean needed time alone, and knew Dean would do the same for him. His mother had asked about the bruise he was sporting and his father chided him about the school’s call saying he was absent; Dean just apologized and promised that _no sir, it won’t happen again,_ and _it was just to help out Cas, Sam will back me up._

The teenager threw the ball again while his mind wandered off in the direction of a certain junior who seemed to overrun his thoughts lately. He’d never had this problem before – he didn’t even fawn over girls he liked.

No, wait. He wasn’t fawning. That’s _stupid_. Dean shook his head to himself and threw the ball hard enough for it to hit the ceiling; he barely caught it on its way down.

As he repeated the nickname over and over to himself he started to realize the ridiculousness of it all. Cas. That isn’t such a far-fetched knick name. Seriously, it’s not like _no one_ ever called him that in his life before. So why was Dean so hung up on it?

Maybe because he’d heard himself say it in a too deep voice in a hazy dream. It was the dream he’d almost completely forgotten, but as soon as that name passed his lips it came crashing back on to him like a tidal wave, and that was what made him run out of the door on Cas like a blushing school girl.

He blinked up at the ceiling as his thoughts slowly drifted from Castiel, a boy who really should have seemed average at best. But the more Dean thought about it, about _him_ , Castiel seemed very…not average, he supposed. If Dean had to say it, Castiel was memorable in at least expressions alone. His eyes were always a weird shade of curious even when it felt like he was being standoffish. At least, that’s what he seemed like whenever Dean looked at him. His eyebrows were always knitted him some sort of questioning fashion, like he was studying everything around him and trying to decode it all. And his mouth was usually pursed in this questioning manner…

 _His mouth,_ Dean thought to himself, his eyes fluttering shut and his hand squeezing the stress ball a little harder. _Slightly chapped and pale. Not terrible looking, I suppose. Not even all busted up like that._ Dean shifted uncomfortably on his bed as he shut his eyes tighter, jumping between the images of Castiel that were burned in to his brain.

Dean thought back to the younger teen’s bruised knuckles after the fight as he held his hand up to his bleeding nose and touched his injured lip gingerly. Long, slender fingers that seemed delicate and curious on everything they came in contact with. 

Well, that is unless the contact was with Wachowski’s face. Castiel wasn’t a helpless kid – he could hold his own, that’s for sure. And Dean kinda liked that.

 _Okay, so hands. Not so terrible either,_ Dean heard himself thinking before he could stop it, like he was making a mental list. Immediately he squeezed his eyes shut as tight as they could go and shook his head once violently, trying to dislodge the image from his head.

 _No._ He thought with a snarl. _Absolutely not._

Instead he tried moving Castiel to the back of his mind ( _for later_ , he tried not to say in his mind but did anyway) and brought forward the image of a very lovely and busty looking blonde girl he’d seen in the last porno he’d watched. What was her name? Kitty?

Fuck, probably.

He imagined her on the bed there with him, crawling up his body and giggling, like he’d seen her do to a faceless man in the video, as she brushed her fingers across his chest. He tilted his head back and allowed his mind to conjure up the image of her running a hand through his hair and playfully pressing a finger to his lips in a hushing manner, just as he imagined her hand sliding lower and lower on his body, past his shirt and felt her nails scratch below the waist of his jeans the band of his boxers.

And then the nails were gone and he furrowed his brow a little, wondering why the hand felt a little rougher all of a sudden. He slowly blinked his eyes open, confused at why his mind was playing tricks, and all he had time to notice was the flash of blue eyes and mop of messy black hair and a boney, bruised knuckles—and holy _Christ_ —

Dean shot straight up in his bed, chest heaving and wildly looking around his room in panic. He rubbed his eyes with a bit too much force and flopped back down in his bed, pressing his palm to his growing crotch with an exasperated groan.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself as he tried to catch his breath, but the adrenaline still pumping through his veins made it difficult. He opened his eyes again and tried to rid himself of the mental image of—of—of _that_.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he growled louder, throwing the stress ball with far too much force at the ceiling. It bounced back much too quick for Dean to react and it came down and landed right on his left eye socket. He grabbed for his throbbing eye and hissed in pain.

“Well that wasn’t very smart, was it,” Dean heard from his bedroom door, and his head snapped up to see Adam standing in his doorway, a smug smirk on his face and a petri dish with something brown and gross looking in it in his grip.

Dean didn’t answer, only grabbed the stress ball and hurled it at his youngest brother, who ducked with a cry.

“Hey, what the hell!” he wailed as he grabbed the ball and chucked it back.

Dean caught it with one hand. “Hey watch your fucking mouth!” he bellowed as he got up from his bed and made a start for Adam, who let out a very undignified yelp and ran down the hallway to the safety of his room. “And stay the hell out of my room!” he finished, vaguely ignoring the way his mother said, “Dean, _language_.” from downstairs and slammed his door shut.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and strung out beyond belief. He squeezed the stress ball still in his hand and found that the damn thing did a shitty job at actually relieving any stress at all. He almost hurled it back at the wall again, thought better of it as he held his sore eye again, and just tossed it under the bed instead. Then he flopped down on his mattress with a huff, buried his face in the pillow and tried to push the image of a pale, slightly bruised and chapped lips out of his mind. It was only replaced by a certain nick name burning on his tongue.

Dean wanted to kick his legs in the air like a petulant child and scream _what the hell is going on_ until he was blue in the face.

***

 

Castiel wasn’t expecting Dean to show up the next morning. He had sort of resigned to that fact, and so he woke up a little earlier than usual, however begrudgingly, to leave extra time to walk. It was when he was rinsing out his cereal bowl that he heard the unmistakable honk of the Impala’s horn.

The sudden noise caused him to almost jump out of his skin, so much so that he was sure he had imagined it. There was no way Dean was going to keep this arrangement after what had happened last—

The horn blared again; twice this time, as if the driver was getting impatient. Castiel set his bowl down in the sink and half sprinted to the front door, tearing it open to see the Impala parked in his driveway in all her glory. The windows were rolled up, but Castiel could still hear the thumping of the bass from the music playing inside the car.

Castiel had to choke down a laugh when he spotted Dean inside the car, banging away at his steering wheel like they were a set of drums, his head thrown back as he mouthed the words like he knew them by heart. Sam was sitting in the passenger side with the grumpiest frown he’d ever seen grace anyone’s face; his arms were crossed and he was shaking his head and rolling his eyes at his brother. Castiel also spotted a younger, sandy blonde boy sitting in the back right behind the passenger side and he looked just as irritated as the middle brother.

When Sam noticed Castiel standing by his front door his face lit up and he waved him over, but Castiel stood frozen, unsure of what to do. Something in his gut screamed at him that this was a terrible idea, but the other part of him said that playing this game of cat and mouse with _ride or no ride from Dean Winchester_ was getting tiresome.

He glanced back at the kitchen where his half eaten breakfast still sat on the counter. His jaw clenched, and without really realizing it he was slipping on his shoes and grabbing his school bag by the door; but he did take the time to grab his remaining piece of toast off of his plate and toss the dish in to the sink. Castiel practically flew out of the house and almost forgot to lock the door behind him, his body moving on its own without much consent from his brain.

When he came around to the passenger side and opened the door to the back seat he saw Dean’s eyes flicker towards him for an instant, the only eye contact the eldest Winchester brother had given him since yesterday afternoon. It didn’t last long enough for Castiel to get a read on his expression.

Castiel slid in to the back seat and felt a familiar warm sensation wash over him. He glanced quickly down at the younger boy sitting next to him, who stared at him with large questioning eyes that made the junior highly uncomfortable. He shifted a little.

“Thank you for picking me up, again,” he said loudly over the still blaring music. It didn’t seem to bother Dean, who did not acknowledge him as he pulled out of the driveway, but Sam gave him a good jab of his elbow and turned the music down himself.

Sam turned to greet him and his face immediately fell slack. “Castiel, you look really good today,” he said, alarmed.

“God Sammy, at least ask him out on a date first,” Dean grunted as Castiel cocked his head questioningly.

Sam rolled his eyes. “No, Dean, I mean _look_ at him. He’s barely got a bruise anywhere!”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and immediately careened his head to see his reflection in the rear view mirror. Sam was right—he had a little bruising around his jaw and the bridge of his nose, but other than that he looked perfectly…normal. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t even all that sore.

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Castiel lied easily, pushing down the feeling of uneasiness and tucking his backpack between his knees. Sam gave him a look that definitely said he didn’t believe it, but he let it go anyway, turning back to face the road.

“Well, anyway I’m glad you’re doing alright. That guy shouldn’t bother you anymore.”

“It’s fine, I’m not worried.” Castiel’s gaze drifted over to Dean expectantly, seeing if he would join the conversation. He kept silent. Castiel watched him grip the steering wheel a little bit tighter.

Suddenly Castiel was acutely aware of the smaller being next to him examining him more closely, leaning over from his seat to stare at Castiel like he’d sprouted a second head. Castiel instinctively leaned back in his seat.

“I, I—uh—” Castiel stammered, unsure of what to say to the boy. Sam turned at the noise and his face instantly hardened. “Hello.”

“Adam, quit it. Leave Castiel alone.”

The boy turned to face Sam, ready to argue.

“Sorry, that’s our brother. You can ignore him, we’re just dropping him off as a favor for our mom today,” Sam sighed, giving Adam a glare that made the youngest Winchester finally sit back in his seat, obeying the silent order.

Castiel nodded in acknowledgement. “It’s uh, it's nice to meet you,” he began, but trailed off when Adam’s face lit up like a light bulb had just gone off in his head. He began rustling around in his oversized school bag for something eagerly and Castiel just stared at him curiously until an unused tissue was being pushed in to his face.

“I need you to sneeze on this.”

Castiel's mouth fell open.

“ _Adam!_ ”

“I need it for school!” Adam whined. “I only have samples from our family so far. I have no variety and that’s boring.”

“For fuck's sake, Adam,” Dean growled, turning his gaze from his youngest brother to the road rapidly.

“You just don’t understand.”

“I understand that you have a fucking problem.”

“I have to study these things because I'm gonna be a doctor, Dean.”

“You’re in fifth grade,” Sam said incredulously, shaking his head but still giving his brother an affectionate smile. “What kind of fifth grade science class needs DNA samples?”

Adam turned to Castiel again, ignoring Sam’s question. “If you don’t want to give me a mucus sample I can use saliva instead.”

“Adam, you leave Cas alone right now; do not make me pull this car over.”

“It’s alright Dean,” Castiel replied, feeling a tingle of electricity welling up inside him as he heard that nick name once more. The feeling was more muted now, the initial shock gone, but the familiarity was still there. He took a bite out of his neglected toast. “He’s not bothersome.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Adam asked hopefully.

Castiel eyed him “No.”

Adam groaned, crossed his arms, and let out an annoyed huff as he stared out of the car window. “I don’t like this one.”

“That’s what we said about you when you were born,” Dean said, a smirk on his face. Adam jerked his head back to his oldest brother, his brow furrowing. “Didn’t we Sammy?”

Sam nodded his head eagerly, stealing a quick glance at Adam. “Oh, yeah. Tried to get Mom to leave you at the hospital.”

“She almost did too!” Dean replied quickly, his smirk widening as Adam’s face grew more alarmed. “But we couldn’t since we’d already made the down payment on you.”

“That’s not true!” The youngest Winchester cried, his gaze jumping back and forth between his two brothers. “That’s not true, right Sam?”

Sam ignored him. “You know what I saw the other day, Dean?”

“What’s that Sammy?”

“There was an ad in the paper about replacements for snotty, annoying little brothers. Guaranteed satisfaction and free shipping too. You just send in the old one and they take care of the rest.”

Adam’s eyes went wider than Castiel thought was possible.

“Maybe we should give them a call,” Dean mused innocently. He snuck a wink at Castiel, whose heart skipped a beat. “See if they have a deal going for trading in _extra_ annoying little brothers.”

“That’s not funny guys!” Adam nearly wailed. Castiel was smiling before he even realized it; he bit down a laugh as he finished the rest of his toast.

“Oh we’re not laughing,” Sam said, shaking his head gravely. “It’s a shame, we’re going to miss you Adam. Right Dean?”

“Such a shame,” Dean echoed. He looked out the window and his expression brightened up in a heartbeat, and a very over the top, toothy smile spread across his lips. “Oh look, we’re here! Have a _great_ day at school little bro.”

Adam glared at both of his brothers as he opened the car door harshly and pulled himself out. “I hate both of you.”

“We love you too; have a lovely day at school dear. Kisses!” Dean called out of his window, making Adam freeze as all of his school mates turned to stare at him.

Dean peeled out from in front of the school quickly before his youngest brother could react.

“Man, that is way more fun when you’re not on the receiving end,” Sam said, trying to catch his breath from laughing much too hard. “I remember hating when you took me to school. You were ruthless, Dean.”

“I try.”

Castiel was still smiling, and he let out one breathless laugh.

Dean turned to him, his stupid grin still on his face, to see Castiel’s reaction. As soon as he did his face fell and he cleared his throat with a grunt; he turned back to face the road.

“So, uh, Cas,” he began, shifting uncomfortably. Sam eyed him. “When are you gonna be done today? You gonna meet us as soon as the bell rings?”

“Yes, Dean. I don’t have anything else to do.”

Dean nodded. The car fell silent.

“Cas—can I call you Cas?—are you staying for dinner?” Sam asked as they came up on the school. “My mother wants you to, if that’s alright with you. And your parents.”

“Sammy, Cas probably just wants to get the project done and go.”

“I’m not asking you _Dean_ , I’m asking Castiel.” Sam turned in his seat to look Castiel in the eye. “Ignore Dean, you can stay if you want.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose—”

Sam laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s no trouble. Just think about it, okay? Maybe once you’re done doing all of Dean’s work for him we can watch a movie or something. It is a Friday after all. This has been the longest first week of school of my life.”

Dean pulled in to the parking lot a little sharper than usual. “Alright, enough Samantha. If you two are gonna have a movie date you can do it elsewhere,” he snapped as he pulled in to a parking space and stiffly shifted the car in to park. “Now get outta my car.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Dean. See you later, Cas,” he said, opening the car door and pulling himself out; having a little trouble along the way after hitting his head on the door frame. He cursed his height and grabbed his bag, shutting the door with a loud thud.

Castiel made a move to leave as well, muttering a thank you and getting one foot out of the car before hearing Dean mumble, “Hey, Cas, can I talk to you for a minute?”

It was so quiet Castiel almost missed it, but instead of ignoring it like he wanted to he merely paused with the door open.

It was when Dean looked back at him with a hard look that was clearly to cover up something more pleading that Castiel tucked his foot back in and closed the door softly.

“Sure, Dean. What is it?”

“I’m just gonna go ahead and say it before I have time to change my mind,” he began. He gripped the steering wheel and took in a long breath. “I don’t know what happened yesterday, and I feel like a dick for running out of your house like, like a girl or something. I couldn’t even explain to you why I did it if I tried, and even then it will sound insane and you’re not gonna believe me anyway so—”

“Wait, Dean, slow down,” Castiel interrupted him, his voice firm. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I understand.”

“No, Cas, you don’t understand.” Dean’s mind clouded to the image of last night; of lying on his bed, palming at an erection while imagining a pair of stronger hands doing it instead and of curious blue eyes staring at him as they did so. He winced. “You have no idea.”

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me since yesterday afternoon?”

Dean winced. “I haven’t been _avoiding_ you, Cas, Christ. I’m not a—”

“—girl?”

“Shut up, Cas.” He sighed. “Look, I can’t explain why I ran out, so let me just apologize and be done with it, alright?” Off in the distance the pair could hear a bell ring, signaling the start of the day. “Anyway, we should get to math I guess. Make sure to lock your door.”

Castiel nodded, realizing that the conversation was over, and they both extricated themselves from the car. Castiel hiked his bag up on his shoulder, noticing that Dean didn’t carry one. He walked around the car towards the building, stopping when he noticed Dean fumbling with the keys to his car as he tried to lock the door. The older teen appeared to be incredibly high strung.

“Dean.”

Dean almost dropped the keys, but managed to catch them just in time as he cursed under his breath. “Yeah, Cas?”

When Castiel didn’t answer right away, Dean looked up at him questioningly. Castiel stared down at the ground looking lost in a deep thought before giving a small smile. He looked up at Dean.

“I like the nickname. Thank you.”

Dean blinked. “The uh—the what?”

“The nick name. Cas. I think I like it.”

Dean laughed and then caught himself, opting to shake his head and smirk instead as he finally slid the key in to the lock on the door. “I can’t be the first to call you that, so I hardly think I can take credit.” He pulled on the door handle to check the door was locked and glanced up to find Castiel still staring at him.

“You are.”

“I am what?”

“The first to call me that.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head nervously. “If you say so. Castiel is just, it’s kind of…”

“A mouthful?”

“Alright, that’s starting to get annoying, Cas,” Dean said, but his voice was betrayed by the smirk he was sporting. The older teen started walking towards the door and nodded for Castiel to follow him, who obliged. They walked together in silence until they reached the front door.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas.”

“You didn’t forget to do the assigned problems for homework, did you?”

“Ah, shit.”

 

***

 

Dean was scribbling down the answers to the homework furiously, silently thanking whatever God existed that Castiel was cool with him copying his homework. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the homework, it was that he just _forgot_. Castiel stood over him, feeding him the sheets and another pencil when Dean’s broke.

“God love ya, Cas, you’re a life saver.”

Castiel nodded in acknowledgement, smiling a little. “I’m happy to help.”

Dean was just scribbling down the answer to the last problem when Mr. Schwartz came storming in, his tie askew and his pants leg muddy. It was a wonder what he did the mornings before class. Following right behind him was a tall girl clutching a book to her side with one hand and a school bag slung over her shoulder. Dean glanced at her appreciatively.

“Yeah, good morning, whatever I’m late. Pass your homework up to the front and open your textbooks.” Mr. Schwartz rummaged around in his desk for his chalk before looking back up at the girl standing awkwardly at the front of the classroom. Dean saw Castiel tilt his head at her when her attention landed directly on him.

“Oh. Right, this is Camille Barton, she just moved here,” he said, pointing at her. “We’ve only been in session for a week so you haven’t missed much. Just find a seat wherever; I had administration bring in a few extra desks. Ask someone about where we’re at in the unit.” He waved her away without looking up.

The girl nodded and turned back towards the class, searching silently for an open seat to her liking. Dean nearly jumped out of his seat when he noticed the one to the right of him was conveniently vacant. He looked up at her, giving his best Winchester smolder smile and gestured to the desk hopefully.

The girl stared at him with a hard expression. She looked down at the front of the class, noting a seat right behind Castiel that was empty, which Dean swears was never usually empty. Or else he would sit there. Wouldn’t he? No. No of course not, why would he sit there?

Camille immediately deposited her items on the desk and sat down, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder when Dean’s face fell.

Castiel turned around to acknowledge her and she smiled at him, holding out her hand for him to take. Dean scowled, handing his homework to the girl in front of him to pass to the front and not taking his eyes off the two. He watched as Castiel shook her hand timidly, Camille giving him a warm smile and nodded at something he said.

Dean crossed his arms and looked away with a grumpy huff.

At the end of class, Dean nearly leapt up from his desk and hopped over to Castiel and Camille, who had been incessantly talking to each other the whole period. Camille would tap Castiel on the shoulder and ask a question, about what subject they were on or what page to turn to, whatever, Dean didn’t care—and Camille would giggle and thank him and Castiel would smile softly in return.

Dean couldn’t tell what he was jealous of – Camille was talking to Castiel and not him or vice versa, but either way Dean didn’t miss the opportunity to wedge himself between them as soon as he was able. The period bell rang and both of them got to their feet just as Dean reached them; he instinctively puffed out his chest and put on a much improved Winchester smolder smile as he stopped at Castiel’s desk.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, not actually giving Castiel any eye contact. “Saw you introduced yourself to the new girl already.” He held out his hand. “The name’s Dean Winchester. Also new around here.”

Camille looked at his hand, then back up to Dean. She turned to Castiel, smiled, and said, “I’ll talk to you later Castiel. We have gym together, right?”

Castiel nodded to her and Dean watched, incredulously, as Camille gave him a small smirk and walked away, her book clutched to her hip and not giving him a second glance.

The senior was stunned in to silence and was even further annoyed when he saw Castiel smiling after her fondly.

“She seems very nice.”

“Yeah,” Dean grunted. “A real angel.”

 

***

 

“Winchester!”

Dean barely twitched at the call of his name, his attention fully focused instead on a pair of figures standing idly across the field. He sat on the bleachers right off of the soccer field, the one his gym class used when doing exercises outside, with his elbows propped up on his knees and a water bottle tossed between his hands. Castiel he recognized right away, his mess of black hair could be spotted from any distance. The junior was standing next to his stretching partner, attempting to touch his toes at the sound of a whistle, but only reaching half way before giving up. Dean frowned when he saw his partner giggle at him.

Camille seemed too much of a contrast to Castiel with her straight pale hair and her flattering, tight fitting gym uniform. She was cute, at least. Dean liked pretty girls in short shorts.

Castiel, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to how his completely oversized shorts went well past his knees and his shirt was at least two sizes too big on him. Those clothes wouldn’t fit right on a professional football linebacker, much less a high schooler.

Dean sort of liked that too.

“Winchester, you comin’ this century or you want detention?”

Dean blinked out of his trance, glancing over at the coach.

“Sorry sir,” he mumbled as he stood up from the bleachers and made his way down to the rest of his class. He saw Connor nudge another classmate as he nodded at Dean. Dean glared him down in return.

“So as you can plainly see, the juniors are out using the soccer field today, so we’re gonna stay on this one,” Coach Sims’ started, gesturing towards the group in the distance. “We’re gonna play football today, girls at the far end, boys on this end. There are just enough of you guys to have five on each team.”

Dean placed his hands on his hips and kicked at a patch of grass as he saw the teams form around him. The girls made their way over to the other end of the field as Dean found himself finally siding with the team who was one player short; but the team seemed happy enough to have him on their side.

Coach Sims’ passed Connor a football and raised his whistle to his mouth. “First to touch down wins, then we’ll switch sides. And remember, this is a _touch_ game. If I see any rough housing you’ll spend the rest of class on the bleachers.” He blew the whistle and both sides settled opposite each other.

Dean nodded vaguely along as one boy on his team made a basic strategy, but he found himself continuously glancing back up at the pair of juniors now standing in a circle with their other classmates, listening intently to what their coach was telling them.

As if sensing the eyes that were on him, Castiel suddenly turned his head towards Dean, his gaze locking on the senior. Dean ducked his head slightly, guilty at being caught looking, but gave one nod of his head in acknowledgement. He saw Castiel return with a small wave, no smile attached, which Dean was learning was typical Castiel fashion.

This caught the attention of Camille next to him. She looked between Castiel and Dean, her brow creased slightly, and she nudged Castiel in the shoulder. Castiel broke the eye contact, turning to her as she whispered something to him, and they both refocused their attention back on the coach.

It was while Dean was scowling at the back of their heads that Coach Sims blew his whistle again, signaling the start of the game. Dean barely had time to register the noise and look down to face Connor opposite him before the wind was being blown out of his lungs as  the large and square teen flung himself into Dean’s chest with a tremendous force. Dean landed flat on his back, his head whipping back and hitting the ground so hard he saw little specks of white light floating in his vision.

The whistle sounded again, and Connor pulled himself to his feet, smirking down at Dean with arms crossed.

“Wachowski, I said _no_ tackling!”

“Sorry Coach, didn’t hear ya. Won’t happen again,” Connor replied, his eyes not leaving Dean’s.

Dean slowly got to his feet, dusting the grass and dirt off of his arms and knees. What he wanted to do more than anything was punch Connor straight in the face – break his nose or give him two nice black eyes – but he knew administration was already on his tail for the last fight, and the last thing he needed was to be expelled from school.

Again.

He made to move around Connor, ignoring him completely and clenching his fists hard enough for his nails to leave crescent shaped marks on his palms – hoping that not making eye contact with relieve the urge to beat Connor until he wasn’t recognizable anymore.

It didn’t work.

“Where ya going, Winchester?” Connor called as he rammed his shoulder in to Dean, preventing his quick escape.

Dean whirled around, drawing himself up to his full height and looming over Connor as he hissed, “Did you not get enough of an ass kicking yesterday, Wachowski? Back for more?”

“Maybe if you weren’t eye-fucking your boyfriend over there,” Connor replied as he jerked his head in Castiel’s direction, who had noticed the altercation starting to stir and was eyeing the two warily, “you wouldn’t have gotten knocked flat on your ass.”

Dean’s jaw clenched visibly and he shook his head, more to himself as he chanted in his mind _not worth it, he’s not worth it_ and turned to finally walk away from Connor as the two teams began to line themselves up again. He knew it was a terrible idea, one of the dumbest he’s ever had, as he felt the words rise up in his throat; but before he could stop himself from saying them, he was muttering under his breath, “You _would_ know about eye-fucking Cas, wouldn’t you?”

_“What the fuck did you just say?”_

Dean turned back to face Connor, relishing in the completely dumbstruck look plastered across his face. Connor spluttered for a moment, trying to find a coherent sentence to retort with, but failed. Instead, he decided to attempt to lunge for Dean, but one of his buddies caught him by the shoulders before he could make contact.

“Wachowksi, quit screwing around and play ball!” Coach Sims called to him, blowing his whistle for emphasis.

Connor angrily brushed off his friend and spit on the ground right by Dean’s foot. “I’d watch my back if I were you Winchester.”

Dean snorted visibly at the threat, bending over in to position as Wachowski did the same.  “Look, Wachowski,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper so that only the other boy could hear. “The jealousy is cute, but I doubt Cas is interested.”

“You son of a bitch!” Connor hissed, lunging forward just as the whistle blew behind them. Dean was ready for it this time, grabbing Connor’s shoulders before the impact, but the force still knocked him backwards. He heard the whistle blow again more frantically and boys shouting, but the sounds were lost to him when Connor’s forehead slammed right into his nose. Dean reeled his head back, grunting and throwing Connor to the ground beside him, just as he himself landed on the grass.

Connor made an attempt to grapple with him, but he was being pulled off of Dean before either one really had time to even register any injuries. Dean lay on his back, staring straight up in to the blinding sun as he felt his face to assess the damage. His nose wasn’t broken, but it sure felt like it was. The bleeding was minimal, thank God for that at least.

Dean blinked as a figure shadowed over him, blocking the sunlight that was stinging his eyes and blurring his thoughts. He barely registered Coach Sims yelling at Connor in the back ground and Connor in return shouting about accidents or something similar, when he saw the silhouette tilt its head slightly and slip his hands in to his gym shorts.

“Hey, Cas.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Dean brushed the back of his hand against his nose and shrugged, his back still planted firmly against the grassy field. “Might have said something I shouldn’t have to Wachowski.”

Castiel nodded, still hovering over Dean’s figure as he studied him. “It appears that was something of a mistake.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, yeah it was.”

Castiel pulled one hand out of his pocket and offered it to Dean, who took it and was surprised at how easily Castiel lifted him up to his feet. He muttered a thanks and got a stiff nod in return.

After he finished brushing himself off and wiping a trickle of blood away from his face he noticed Camille standing behind Castiel, her arms folded across her chest and looking very cross.

“What?” he asked her defensively, watching as she shook her head slowly.

Camille shrugged. “We saw what happened from across the field and Castiel was taking off after you before I could get a word in edgewise.” She glanced at Castiel. “Look, he’s fine see? We should get back before we both get detention.”

Dean managed a glare before Castiel was stepping in between them, scanning over Dean’s face worriedly. “Do you need to go to the clinic, Dean?”

“Nah, Cas, I’m fine. It’s not bad.”

_“Winchester!”_

Dean grimaced at the hiss of his name and reluctantly turned to see Coach Sims staring him down. “Sir?”

“Quit arguing with your girlfriend and go sit on the bleachers with Wachowski. You’re lucky I don’t give both of you detention!” His focus moved towards Camille and Castiel. “And you two, get back to your side of the field before I throw _you_ in detention!”

Camille nodded, apologizing and grabbing Castiel by his shirt sleeve. “C’mon, we’d better go,” she said, and Castiel nodded in agreement. He gave one last look to Dean, silently asking him if he was really alright once more, before turning and walking back across the field with Camille right behind him.

Once he saw them reach the other side he made his way up the bleachers, making sure to sit quite a few steps up above from Wachowski, who was shooting him dirty looks every three minutes.

Dean ignored him, instead finding his attention drawn to the far end of the field where the juniors were running laps for the rest of the period.

 

***

 

“Dean, _again?_ ”

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother, leaning against the lockers as Sam pulled out every book he had and stuffed them in to his bag.

“Can’t you go one week without getting in to a single fight, much less two?” Sam continued, shaking his head at the swollen bruise on the bridge of Dean’s nose. “Dad’s going to piss himself.”

“Not if I say it was an accident and you back me up like a good little brother.”

Sam shut his locker and turned to give his older brother signature bitch face #44. “Like he’ll believe that, Dean. Now come on, Cas is probably waiting for us out in the parking lot.”

Both brothers made their way out of the school in to the senior lot, brushing past students excited for the weekend. Dean warily noticed how Sam was towering above most of them, having almost reached his height.

When they were half way to the spot his baby was parked in, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Castiel was waiting for them alright, but standing next to him engaged in a giggle fit was Camille, holding her books to her chest and shifting her weight from one foot to another like a giddy school girl. Dean’s chest tightened when he saw Castiel smile back at her – Castiel didn’t smile at anyone very often, Dean was starting to observe, and he watching the exchange made Dean clench his jaw.

“Who is Cas talking to?” Sam asked innocently as they came close to the pair.

“The devil,” Dean muttered under his breath. “A hot devil.”

As they reached the two by the car, Castiel noticed their presence and turned to face them.

“Camille, this is Sam, Dean’s younger brother,” he said, gesturing to the taller Winchester.

Dean watched incredulously as Camille smiled warmly at Sam, holding out her hand, which Sam took with a smile of his own.

“Camille, Castiel has told me about you,” she said, introducing herself.

They shook hands once and Sam replied, “Nice to meet you, did you just move here as well?”

Camille nodded and tipped her head to Castiel. “Cas here has been helping me find my classes. I’d be lost without him, honestly.”

_Cas?_

Dean cleared his throat loudly. “Well, we should get going, right Cas?” he asked, putting an extra emphasis on the last word as he nudged past Camille to unlock his door.

“Where are you guys headed in such a hurry?”

“Dean and I are working on the project for math together,” Castiel replied.

“Oh, I haven’t found a partner to work with, yet,” Camille added, slipping her books in to her bag.

“You could work with u—”

“Sorry, Cas, teacher said two people per group, no exceptions.” Dean interrupted hastily, ignoring the cross look Sam was giving him as he fumbled for his keys.

“I don’t remember Mr. Schwartz ever saying—”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Camille interjected, glaring daggers at the back of Dean’s head. “Really. I’ll find someone to work with. Thank you for the offer though. I should get going myself, though. Lots of catching up to do over the weekend.” She took half a step forward and wrapped her arms around Castiel in a friendly hug. Dean turned to watch the two and dropped his keys right out of his hands, ignoring the way Sam raised his eyebrows at him.

Castiel stood there stiffly as if unsure of what to do, but Camille pulled away after only a brief second, smiling and mumbling, “See you Monday, Cas,” before hoisting her bag over her shoulder and making her way back in to the building.

Dean grabbed his keys angrily off the ground before standing back up and noticing his little brother staring him down with an intensity rarely seen.

“What?” Dean asked angrily, unlocking the doors and wrenching his open.

“Could you have been any more of an ass, Dean?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean said innocently as he slid in to his seat. Castiel made his way around to the back passenger side.

Sam angrily sat down in the car seat across from his brother. “You were being a major jerk to Camille. What’s your deal?”

“Nothing!” the eldest Winchester cried, grabbing for his box of tapes. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, okay!” his brother replied sarcastically, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “When she called him ‘Cas’ I seriously thought you were gonna lose your shit.”

“Okay, to be fair,” Dean hissed as outside the car Castiel was pulling his bag off his shoulder and reaching for the door, “I’m the one who gave Cas that nickname.”

“You did _not_.”

“Did to, he told me so himself.”

“You don’t drop your keys like a blushing school girl when I call him that,” Sam replied in a whisper as Castiel opened the door and slid in to the seat.

“Christ, Samantha, will you drop it?”

“Drop what?”

Both brothers turned to face Castiel in the back seat, who was giving them a wide eyed, questioning look.

“Nothing, Cas. Ready to go? Want to get this project over with.”

“Sure, Dean.”

Dean put in one of his favorite tapes and turned the volume up just enough to drown out the sound of Sam clicking his tongue disappointingly at his older brother.

 

 

 

***

 

As Dean pulled up to the Winchester household, he quickly apologized.

“It’s not as big as your place, but its home,” he mumbled, turning off the engine as he parked in the driveway.

“It’s lovely,” Castiel replied quietly, admiring the cozy look of the off-white, vine covered home. It seemed very…welcoming; something Castiel wasn’t used to. He looked over at Dean to give him a warm smile and watched as the elder Winchester responded by looking away quickly and letting out a loud cough.

“Come on, you two,” Sam grumbled, shaking his head and climbing out of the car, making sure he watched his head this time around.

Castiel also got out of the Impala, grabbing his bag and following Sam and Dean nervously. Dean pushed his way through the open door, wiping his feet on the door mat, Sam and Castiel following right after him.

“Mom, we’re home!” Dean called to the empty foyer, setting his keys on the small table at the entrance.

“In the kitchen!” Castiel heard a soft voice call after them, noticing the sweet smell coming from that direction.

“Are you baking, mom?” Sam asked and inhaled deeply, smelling the air and grinning as he hung up his large coat in the closet. Dean didn’t remove his leather jacket; instead he slipped off his shoes and started walking towards the kitchen, motioning for Castiel to follow him. Castiel also removed his shoes, thanking Sam when the younger Winchester took them from him and placed them in the closet.

“Maybe,” the voice answered, just as Dean and Castiel rounded the corner. The kitchen was well it in the summer afternoon and felt warm to Castiel, who was used to the coldness of his own stainless steel covered kitchen.

When Mary Winchester saw Dean come around the corner, she opened her arms and grabbed him by the shoulders, hugging him tight and planting an affectionate kiss to his temple. If Dean was embarrassed in any way by his mother’s actions, he didn’t show it.

Sam brushed past Castiel and hugged his mother as well, pulling away to ask what she was baking in the oven.

“Cherry pie, of course. Can’t you tell, Sam?” Mary said, looking over her son’s shoulder and landing her eyes directly on Castiel, who shifted uncomfortably under the gaze.

“Is this Castiel?” she asked sweetly, pushing past her sons to gather Castiel up in to her arms like he was one of her own.

Castiel froze for a second, shooting a worried glance over to Dean and Sam, who just smirked and shrugged at him, before relaxing in her arms. “Hello, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Please, Castiel, call me Mary. Do you like cherry pie?”

Castiel nodded, smiling at her as she pulled away.

“Good, you guys can have some after dinner. Have a good day at school?” Mary stopped bustling around the kitchen when she noticed Dean’s swollen bruise. “Dean Winchester, how on earth did you get _that_?”

Dean’s hand shot up to his nose. He spluttered for a moment, trying to come up with the most convincing lie he could on the spot, before Castiel spoke up instead.

“A boy at school attacked him. I saw it happen, it wasn’t Dean’s fault.”

Dean’s lips formed a thin line as he shot Castiel a glare; Sam tossed his head back and laughed.

“Dude,” Dean shook his head at Cas incredulously.

“What? It’s true.”

Mary patted a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I like this one, he hasn’t learned to lie to me yet. Ah well, I’ll cover for you with dad this time, but any more and you’re grounded mister.” She paused. “You two are working on a project right?” she asked, glancing between her eldest son and Castiel.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, please don’t call me ma’am, Castiel. It makes me feel old. Find yourself a spot to work, I’ll get you boys some lemonade.” And with that she bustled away to the cupboards and shooed the boys out of the kitchen.

“Your mother is very nice, Dean,” Castiel said, smiling after her.

“Yeah, she’s kind of the greatest,” Dean replied, grinning to himself and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Give me your stuff and I’ll throw it in my room. We can relax for a couple minutes before we start, right?”

“I thought Cas just wanted to get the project done and go?” Sam mocked from the landing of the stairs as he made his way up to his room to drop off his things.

Dean merely glared after him, holding out his hands as Castiel handed him his backpack.

“I can hold on to it, I don’t want to impose.”

“Christ, Cas, you’re not imposing on anything. Just hand me your stuff.”

Castiel did so without another word, following Dean up the stairs to his room. Dean’s room was the first door on the left at the top of the stairs, and Castiel wrinkled his nose at the clothes strewn about on the floor.

“Meant to clean up before you came over, but I, uh, forgot,” Dean mumbled as he tossed Castiel’s backpack on the bed.

The walls were covered in band posters, as well as a few posters of busty women sitting on the hood of a car in a suggestive pose. Dean’s clothes seemed to cling to every surface and fixture of the room, and his desk seemed to not serve any purpose other than to hold his CDs and tapes.

The clothes on the floor didn’t bother him; it showed that Dean was comfortable in this space all to himself. The posters told him more about Dean’s tastes and things he liked.

Castiel _loved_ this room.

His own room was devoid of anything so personal – mostly textbooks or encyclopedias and strange knick knacks from abroad. Castiel’s room didn’t feel like it belonged to a teenager.

“So we can work wherever you want,” Dean said, sitting on his bed and stretching his arms over his head. Castiel watched him, stared at the sliver of skin exposed on Dean’s stomach as his shirt was lifted up. He blinked and looked away quickly. “I’m not picky, but when Adam gets home he’s probably going to try and bug you so I’d suggest somewhere quiet.”

“In—in here is fine,” Castiel said quickly before he could stop himself.

Dean sat up and eyed him for half a second before nodding his head. “Alright, sounds fine to me. Wanna head downstairs first for a bit? I’m kind of allergic to starting homework within the first hour of my weekend break.”

Castiel smiled at that, nodding and following Dean out of his room. He shut the door behind him at Dean’s request, coming to the stairs just in time to catch Sam coming out of his room and join them.

“Come on, Cas, we can pick out a movie to watch when you guys finish your project,” Sam said to him, motioning for the junior to follow him to the living room.

Dean groaned. “I thought I said no movie dates.”

“Shut up, Dean. Cas is my friend too, you’re going to have to learn to share.”

Castiel’s face reddened at that, his chest tightening at the mention of being considered a friend. And a friend to _both_ Winchesters at that.

“You do want to stay for dinner and movie, right Cas?”

A smile crept up on Castiel’s lips. “Yes, I’d like that.”

 

***

 

The three boys spent an hour watching a show on TV; Sam and Dean argued over what to watch for a good three quarters of that hour, while Castiel just sipped his lemonade and watched, amused.

After the program ended (a particularly vile program, Castiel noted, about a man named Jerry who allowed his show guests to throw chairs at each other) a commotion came from the front door, and John Winchester announced he was home. Adam followed right after him, running around the house to show everyone the pet cockroach he’d brought home from science class, all while Mary yelled at him to take his muddy shoes off and stop trailing dirt in the house. It took John sternly calling him by his full name to finally get the youngest Winchester to listen, and then Adam was flying off up to his room to find a place for his cockroach’s cage.

Dean had completely lost track of time, or so he claimed, because right after Mary was calling them to the table for dinner before they’d even started on their project.

The food smelled wonderful, so wonderful that Castiel forgot about not getting any work done. Mary had made spaghetti with meatball sauce and garlic bread, something Castiel hadn’t had in a very long time. Dean and Sam both sat down while Mary pulled up an extra chair in between the two.

Castiel was just about to sit when Adam suddenly cried out.

“Wait, where’s my friend going to sit? We need another chair, mom!”

Mary stopped, her hands on the chair. “Your friend? You brought someone home too, Adam?”

“Yeah, but he’s invisible, so you can’t see him. Only me,” Adam replied, just as John rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

“He was talking about this during the whole ride home today. It’s his imaginary friend, Mary. He’s going through that phase.”

Adam balked. “He isn’t imaginary, dad! He’s real; you just can’t see him because he won’t let you.” Adam leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “He doesn’t like you.”

Dean snorted.

“He doesn’t like you either, Dean.”

“Okay, okay, Adam. It’s alright, I’ll get a place and chair for your friend too,” Mary said, diffusing the situation. John made a start to argue, but she shushed him with a look. “Castiel, please sit and dig in. I’ll be right back.”

Castiel did as he was told, but was too shy to make a grab for any food. Instead, Sam grabbed two pieces of garlic bread and plopped one down on Castiel’s plate, while Dean served spaghetti to him from the bowl. Mary returned a minute later with another chair and placed it next to her youngest son, who seemed relieved.

“Can I ask your friend what his name is?” she asked Adam as she took her place next to John and began serving herself.

Adam tilted his head to the chair, as if listening to someone whisper him something in his ear.

“He says his name is Michael.”

Castiel’s hand twitched involuntarily, and he stared at it, somewhat alarmed.

“Well, tell Michael he’s welcome to have dinner with us any time,” Mary said, taking a bite of her food. “As long as he does his share of the dishes.”

Dinner passed by as the Winchesters discussed with each other their days; John talked about taking a promotion at the base, Adam about a science project with the cockroach, and Dean and Sam about their day at school – with Dean skipping over the fight, of course. After a little coaxing from Sam, Castiel even helped himself to seconds, complimenting Mary tirelessly about her cooking.

After dinner finished, Dean and Sam cleared the table and started the dishes; though they had to reprimand Castiel multiple times over that he was a _guest_ and guest’s do _not help with the dishes._

Instead he stayed at the table as Mary served him a piece of the cherry pie she had made earlier, putting a large dollop of whipped cream on top. After the first bite he felt as though he had stepped in to heaven; the pie was just the right mix of tart and sweet, and he was positive he’d never had pie this good in his life. In fact, he was fairly sure he’d never had _homemade_ pie in his life.

Dean and Sam joined them shortly after, Dean inhaling his piece like he was breathing air, and then casually asking for another slice, which his mother gave him after scolding him about moderation. After they finished, she told them not to worry about the dishes and start their project instead, which Dean was more than happy to do at this point. Satiated from his full stomach and the prospect of a weekend full of sleep and relaxation, he motioned for Castiel to follow him up the stairs to his room.

“Sammy pulled a few books from the library for me yesterday,” he said to Castiel as they both entered his room. He flung himself on the bed, pointing to the stack on his desk. “I think that’ll be enough sources for Schwartz.” He closed his eyes and cradled his head in his hands.

Castiel nodded in agreement, sitting down at the edge of the bed and picking up his bag, rummaging through it for his notebook.

Dean popped one eye open to look Castiel over once, then twice before he turned his back to him. The junior was sitting in the same spot Dean had imagined him in earlier that day and Dean pushed down slightly on his crotch to stop the involuntary swelling that occurred there at the mere memory.

Castiel laid all the books out on the floor, including his notebook where he’d already completed half of the report on his own (for which Dean could have kissed him, the little over achiever) and sat on the ground himself, flipping through the biography of Euclid in search for any relevant information he could use.

“What do you need me to do?” Dean asked from the bed, unsure and not wanting to bother Castiel in what honestly looked like his natural habitat.

Castiel looked up and him and gave a small smile. “Don’t worry much about it, Dean. I think I can handle it, to be honest.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cas, I’m not gonna make you do the whole project by yourself. Here,” he mumbled as he pushed himself off the bed and on to the floor next to Castiel. Crossing his legs in front of him and pulling a book out of Castiel’s hand, he smirked and continued, “I’ll research. I’d offer to write, but my handwriting is honestly shit. Sound like a fair deal?”

They exchanged a silent smile between each other before Castiel turned back to his notebook. “Alright, Dean, if you insist.”

“I do. Now, who are we studying again?”

“Dean…”

“I forgot!”

“Euclid, Dean.”

“Right, _right_.”

 

***

 

It was nearing eight o’clock by the time they’d nearly finished, with only the conclusion left to write. Dean had eventually given up on reading from the text, instead laying on his back as Castiel read to him, occasionally asking questions or giving his opinion on a certain part. Castiel didn’t mind much, having Dean relaxing next to him and lazily carrying on a conversation was enough for him.

Castiel insisted on writing it himself so they could stop for the night.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Castiel said as he Dean rubbed his face tiredly.

Dean dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “You’re not in anyone’s hair, Cas. Now that this is done I don’t have to worry about it for the whole weekend. You’re an awesome partner, you know.” Dean punctuated his last sentence by patting Castiel on the shoulder twice, genuine fondness on his face.

The hand lingered until a soft knock from the door echoed through the room. Both boys snapped their heads towards the door, Dean pulling his hand away like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The door opened and Mary appeared behind it, looking fondly at the two boys on the ground. “Sam sent me up here to kidnap Castiel for a movie.”

“We just finished,” Castiel replied, smiling and shutting his notebook. He got to his feet and glanced at the alarm clock on Dean’s desk and winced slightly. “It’s getting late though. I probably shouldn’t walk in the dark, so I’ll have to head out soon.”

Dean laughed from his spot on the floor. “Don’t be stupid Cas, I’m gonna drive you no matter how late it is so don’t worry about that.”

“I made popcorn,” Mary bribed. “If it gets to be too late, you are absolutely welcome to stay the night. I can give you some of Dean’s pajamas to sleep in if need be.”

Castiel stood there, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find what words he wanted to use, or how to answer. He wanted to stay, he wanted to stay and never leave and eat spaghetti and pie every night and work on projects with Dean and watch movies with Sam – he wanted every night to be Friday night at the Winchesters’.

But he also didn’t feel like he really belonged here, either.

“Christ,” Dean said gruffly, dragging himself to stand by the junior. “If you ask him he’s gonna stand there mumbling for the next hour before he decides anything because he thinks he’s _imposing,_ so I’m gonna say it for him. Yes, he’s staying.” Castiel shot a glance over at Dean, his eyes wide as the eldest Winchester threw a book he was holding on his bed. “That okay, Cas?”

_No. It’s probably the exact opposite of okay._

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be trouble?”

“Oh Cas, honey,” Mary sighed, and Castiel’s heart fluttered at her use of the nick name, “If you’re gonna be near this family you’re gonna have to learn to take what you want. Especially with three Winchester boys in the house. Nice guys finish last here. Do you want me to call your parents?”

“No, that’s alright. I’ll call them. I’m sure they’ll be alright with it.” _If they answer._

“Alright sweetie. Dean, lend him some of your clothes. I’ll get the inflatable mattress while you guys are watching your movie,” she said, giving Castiel a nod of approval. “Don’t forget to call you parents,” she added as a last thought, and disappeared from the door way.

By the time Castiel had collected himself and had come to terms with the fact that he was going to stay in the Winchester household for the night, Dean had already opened his drawer and was rummaging around for clothes.

The thought of wearing Dean’s clothes made Castiel’s skin tingle and he shook his head once violently to keep himself from thinking about it.

_No crushes, Castiel._

“I can just sleep in these clothes, I don’t want to—” he was cut off by a pile of clothes hitting him right in the face. He pulled them off, staring at the plain white shirt and old red gym shorts in his hands.

“If you say one more time what I think you’re about to say, so help me, Cas,” Dean laughed, pulling out more clothes for himself. “You mind if I change in here?”

Castiel’s head snapped back to the clothes in his arms, nodding and turning towards the door immediately. He barely had made it to the doorway when he heard Dean call quietly from behind him, “You can change here, too.”

Dean didn’t exactly know what had compelled him to say it; he only knew that it had felt like the closest he’d ever been to word vomit. In an attempt to cover himself, he hastily added, “It’s like changing in gym, it’s cool,” and immediately regretted it, knowing it sounded stupid. It’s not like he found it weird or anything. He liked changing in front of Cas.

No, wait, he didn’t like changing specifically in front of Cas, he just didn’t mind it. Or something. Besides, Cas would be undressing too and – _fuck, Winchester, stop thinking before you make it worse._ He quickly pulled his shirt over his head to hide the burning embarrassment covering his face.

The junior stared as he watched Dean slowly take his shirt off, pulling it over his head from the back and throwing the shirt to the floor. He attempted not to stare at the lean body of the older teen; the way his jeans hung snugly from his hips how his broad shoulders looked unclothed. He felt his own jeans start to tighten and immediately followed suit in removing his shirt to break the eye contact.

He then began unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down and off in one quick motion, attempting to dress as quickly as possible and flee the room. The gym shorts he tugged on first, and they fit nice and snug around his hips. He still refused to look at Dean, but noticed that Dean’s jeans were also tossed on to the floor soon after.

Castiel was just about to pull on the shirt when he heard Dean from across the room say quietly, “Hey, what is that?”

The junior looked up, instantly regretting it when he saw Dean standing in nothing but a pair of socks and black boxer briefs, his plaid pajama pants in one hand and pointing at Castiel intently with the other. Castiel followed his finger and saw it land right on his chest.

_Oh._

Castiel’s hand immediately went to the scarred flesh there – small, but significant enough to be seen from a distance.

Dean walked closer, interested in the strange looking scar and seemingly forgetting his pants dangling from his hand. He must not have noticed the scar the previous day when Castiel had undressed, he thought to himself as he let out a low whistle when he saw just how bad of a wound it must have been to leave a scar like _that_. “How’d you get it? Looks like it must have hurt like a bitch.”

Castiel rubbed his hand over it self-consciously. “I don’t know. I’ve had it ever since I can remember; I think my parents told me I fell out of a tree when I was a little kid.”

“Jesus, did you fall on a stake?” he laughed, leaning in so close that Castiel instinctively jerked his head away, his cheeks on fire under the scrutiny. “Dude, seriously looks like you got, uh, stabbed or something.”

“Y-yeah, something like that. A branch, maybe.”

Dean tilted his head up and smirked at the younger teen. It must have been then that he noticed the close proximity because he immediately cleared his throat and backed away, hopping in to his pants with little grace.

Castiel followed suit, pulling the shirt on and drinking in the smell of Dean’s clothes – a strange mix of laundry detergent and something that could really only be described as _Dean_ : a mix of the smell of car exhaust and leather and other things that Castiel couldn’t place but just _liked_.

He never wanted to take it off.

Meanwhile, Dean was putting his own shirt on, admiring the stark contrast between how his clothes looked on Castiel as opposed to his oversized gym uniform. His own shorts and shirt fit Castiel much more snugly, and Dean definitely appreciated that.

“Well, at least they fit,” Dean remarked as he pulled off his socks and threw them at least close to the laundry basket. “Now let’s go, I want some popcorn.”

 

***

 

After Castiel had tried to call his parents twice with no answer, he could only assume they were already in bed. If he got up early enough and made it home before they woke up the next morning, he was sure there would be no problem with him staying. Either way, he still lied easily to Mary that they’d given the okay when she asked.

“You better not have chosen a chick flick, Cas,” Dean mumbled to him as he flung himself on the couch opposite his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes and held up a dvd case. “He wanted to see the Fifth Element, he told me he’d never seen it before. That suit you, princess?”

“Yeah, this movie’s awesome. Good choice, dude,” Dean replied, nudging Cas lightly with his elbow. “Can’t believe you’ve never seen it.”

“I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

“You’re in for a treat then,” Dean said as he grabbed the popcorn bowl from Sam. “Now sit.”

Castiel did as he was told, sitting in between the two Winchesters as Sam found the remote and pressed play. As the opening scene appeared on the TV, Mary appeared behind them on the couch and leaned over to kiss her two sons on the head. “I tucked Adam in, so he shouldn’t bother you. There are snacks in the kitchen and blankets in the closet. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.” She turned to Castiel and gave him a small kiss on the top of his head too, and Castiel’s face burned red. “Cas, I set up the air mattress in Dean’s room for you with blankets and a pillow. Let me know if you need anything else, alright? Enjoy your movie, boys.”

With that she turned on her heel and headed up the stairs.

“Your mom is very…”

“Awesome? Yeah, she is,” Sam finished, gabbing a handful of popcorn over Castiel. “She likes you, which is a plus.”

“I like her too.”

“Alright you two, shut up, I don’t want Cas to miss the beginning. Here, Cas, you hold the popcorn.” Dean was shoving the bowl in to Castiel’s hands unceremoniously. Castiel tentatively took a handful.

The movie was intriguing, that’s for sure. It had interesting fight scenes and the lead actress was pretty good. But if Castiel had to be honest with himself it wasn’t the movie he was paying the most attention to. What he _had_ been focused on since the scene with the blue woman singing opera was the fact that Dean’s left knee had been inching closer and closer to his leg until it had brushed it slightly. At the contact, Castiel’s heart beat a little faster in his chest.

Dean seemed to stretch out further and further as the movie raged on; near the end he was taking up more than half of the couch, easily. He hadn’t even noticed how close he was getting to his friend, but when he brushed against him he made no effort to move it.

It was just a little touch, right? Harmless.

When the credits rolled, Sam yawned and stretched, grabbing the last handful of popcorn and saying he was off to bed. Dean yelled at him to take the popcorn bowl first, but was promptly ignored when Sam said goodnight to Castiel and made his way upstairs.

“So,” Dean started as he extricated himself from the blankets and taking the bowl in to the kitchen. “Did you like it? Pretty cool movie, huh? Bruce Willis is awesome; you’ve seen Die Hard, right?”

“I, uh, no. I haven’t,” Castiel called back to him, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

A small clattering came from the kitchen, as if a bowl had been dropped. A second later Dean was in the doorway of the kitchen, staring him down. “You haven’t seen Die Hard? _Any_ of them? Christ, Cas!”

Castiel put his hands up innocently. The senior just shook his head at Castiel, whipping his hands off with a dish towel. “Well, we’ll save those for the next time.”

“Next time?”

Dean looked up at Castiel sheepishly. “Yeah, if you ever want to, uh, you know. Come over again. Or…something.” There was a pause as Castiel averted his eyes. “What, don’t look so surprised! My mom likes you, Sam likes you, why wouldn’t you be invited back over?” _Even I like you._

“I’d like that.”

With that Dean made his way upstairs, Castiel following quietly in tow. When they entered Dean’s room they noticed the twin sized air mattress on the floor by Dean’s bed, and an unopened disposable toothbrush sitting on the pillow. Castiel smiled at it as he picked it up. Mary thought of everything.

After brushing his teeth alongside Dean in the bathroom, Castiel crawled underneath the covers, surprised at just how comfortable the air mattress was.

“You gonna be okay down there?” Dean called from his own bed, punching his head in to his pillow and sighing tiredly.

“It’s comfortable, I’ll be fine.”

At that, silence fell on them, the only sounds audible were some crickets and cars passing by outside and soft snoring in another room (probably John). Castiel listened to Dean breathing softly and stared up at the ceiling as he tried to will himself into slumber. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence necessarily, but it lasted for over ten minutes before Dean was suddenly clearing his throat.

“Cas, you still up?”

“Yes, Dean.”

There was a pause. “Thanks for doing the project with me. I dunno if I’d have been able to do it on my own.”

Castiel turned to face the bed, finding Dean looking back down at him, his head resting in one hand.

“You’re much more intelligent than you give yourself credit for, Dean.”

The older teen dropped his eyes, and even in the stark blackness of the room Castiel could see Dean flush a little. It made Castiel’s heart jump.

“Yeah, and how would you know that? You’ve known me for a week.”

Castiel shrugged. “It’s just a feeling I have,” he said in a quiet whisper, not even sure if Dean could hear it. Then he cleared his throat, his voice hoarse when he next mumbled, “Am I wrong?”

Dean didn’t answer him, instead staring up at the ceiling in silence.

“You know, I was supposed to go to a party tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice strangely hoarse. “Probably would have still been out there if I had.”

“Why didn’t you go? Would have been more fun than doing a project, I’m sure.”

Dean shrugged, smiling. “Turns out it wasn’t my scene.”

“Connor invited you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered, giving Castiel a puzzled look. “How’d you know?”

“I heard about it around school,” Castiel replied, mirroring Dean’s shrug. “You probably should have gone; that’s where all the popular kids hang out.”

After a few minutes of no response, Castiel assumed the conversation was over and turned over on his side, facing away from Dean and closing his eyes.

“Hey, Cas,” he heard, the whisper quiet and pressing. He didn’t respond, but Dean continued anyway. “Do you ever feel like, sometimes, you might have known someone before you met them?” he whispered, his eyes sliding shut as his mind conjured up the scene of the lake and strong hands on his shoulders and someone calling his name.

Castiel’s eyes shot open as the same exact image pushed itself in to his thoughts against his will. His heart started to race.

After a long silence, Dean hastily added, “I know it sounds kind of weird, and I don’t usually talk about stupid things like this, but the other night I had this—”

“Sometimes.”

“—what?”

“I do, sometimes. Feel that way, I mean,” Castiel replied, shifting over to look Dean in the eyes once more. “You mean like déjà vu, right?”

Dean nodded. “Y-yeah, something like that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know man, sometimes I just feel like, like… out of place, you know?” Castiel nodded at him,  but Dean’s eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Like some things just don’t feel right. I’m glad it’s not just me.”

Suddenly Dean’s mouth broke out in to a toothy grin, and he glanced down at the younger teen on the floor. “For all we know, I could be Neo. Then it would all make sense.”

Dean’s face fell when he saw Castiel tilt his head and say, “Who is Neo?”

“Neo, Cas? From—you know what, Cas, never mind. All in good time. Get some sleep.” And with that, Dean turned facing away from Castiel, whose brow was furrowed in confusion even as he dropped his head to his pillow.

When he finally heard soft snoring coming from the bed above him, Castiel allowed himself to drift off.

 

***

 

It was barely light outside when the rustling in the room startled Dean awake, having already forgotten that another person had spent the night in his room.

He blinked open his eyes; they were sensitive to the light peaking through his blinds. He saw Castiel, having already folded his blankets in a neat fashion on top of his mattress and pillow, dressing himself quietly in the corner.

“Cas?” he called to the boy, who looked surprised and turned to face him. Dean rubbed his eyes. “What’re you doing up so early?”

“I have to get home,” he whispered, smoothing his shirt over his body. He began folding the clothes Dean had lent him. “I was trying not to wake you, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Dean grumbled, realizing he had to piss like a race horse anyway and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. “You weren’t thinking of walking home, were you?”

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Castiel replied simply, shrugging.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Give me five minutes and I’ll drive you, alright?” He waited for Castiel’s nod as a response before walking out his room and heading for the toilet.

On his way to the bathroom, his ears prickled at a soft, high pitched noise. At first he rubbed them, wondering if they were just ringing, but the noise didn’t dissipate. He attempted to shake the noise out of his head while he went to the bathroom, emptying his bladder and splashing water on his face, but the ringing continued.

It was while on his way back to his room that he noticed the noise grew in volume right outside of Adam’s door, which was left slightly ajar. He leaned his ear against it and winced as the ringing grew even louder.

He pushed open the door slowly, noticing how Adam’s room was still darker than his, his window not facing the morning sun. Instead, the room was filled with the white light from his little brother’s small TV in his room. There was nothing playing on the TV, just snowy static flooding the screen and making the light flicker across the room. As soon as he stepped in to the room the noise pierced his ears so harshly he winced again, striding over to the TV in long steps and pressing the off button firmly.

The room was immediately plunged in darkness again and the noise stopped abruptly. Dean sighed with relief at the silence and watched as his brother’s face contorted in his slumber for a moment before relaxing and turning over to face the wall.

When he returned to his room, Castiel was fully dressed and packing his bag.

“Sorry about that, Adam’s TV was on,” Dean said as he grabbed the socks he’d tossed away yesterday and slipped them over his feet.

“Sorry for what?”

“The noise, I don’t know why he left it on. Must have fallen asleep watching something.”

“Noise?” Castiel asked, his head doing his trademark tilt. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“You telling me you didn’t hear that God awful ringing?” Dean said, shaking his head and bending over to grab his jeans. “You need to get your hearing checked.”

“All I heard was someone talking. I assumed it was you.”

Dean’s head snapped up to meet Castiel’s gaze. “I didn’t say anything,” he said slowly, watching as Castiel’s eyes narrowed and he looked away, lost in thought. “Hey. You feeling okay?”

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck as he started at the door with an expression Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Yeah,” the younger teen replied after a few moments. He turned to see Dean slipping his jeans on. “Yeah, I’m alright. Must be hearing things.”

“Well, come on then, let’s get you home. You want something to eat before you go?” Dean asked as he left the room, Castiel following after him.

“No, I’ll be alright. Thank you, though.”

The two boys slipped on their shoes in silence. Dean grabbed his leather jacket and Castiel hoisted his bag on to his shoulder as they walked out the door towards Dean’s car.

The car ride was silent, Dean not even bothering to turn on the radio or put in a tape to listen to. Occasionally Castiel would steal a glance over at him, admiring his profile or the way his fingers curled around the steering wheel a little tighter when he caught him looking, but otherwise he just stared out of the window at the trees and power lines that passed by in a blur.

When they arrived at his house, Castiel thanked Dean quietly and opened his door without another word.

“No problem, Cas. I’ll see you Monday?”

Castiel nodded. “Monday,” he replied, shutting the door and making his way up the steps to his house’s entrance. It was when he was reaching for his keys in his bag that he noticed it.

The door was open. It was a very small opening, but still ajar all the same. Castiel’s hand paused on the doorknob, his breath hitching when he saw that the lock had been broken.

“You okay?” he heard Dean call to him over the roar of the Impala’s engine. When he looked behind him he saw Dean watching him with a puzzled expression. He immediately dropped his bag and took a few steps back off the porch, glancing at the second floor to look for any signs of a broken window or any other sign of forced entry.

He barely registered the sound of the engine being cut off and Dean opening and shutting his car door as he looked frantically back at to the entrance.

“Hey, everything okay?” Dean said when he came up behind him, but his voice dropped suddenly when he saw the front door and the lock. “ _Christ_ , Cas.” Dean found himself gripping Castiel’s shoulder before he knew what he was doing, his blood running icy in his veins.

“Stay here,” Castiel said gruffly as he pulled free of Dean’s grip and stepped cautiously through the front door.

“Cas you can’t go in there, not by yourself,” Dean hissed after him. He followed right behind the junior.

The house was so silent that it made Dean’s skin crawl, but nothing seemed to be out of place or taken. In fact, Castiel was almost positive everything was just as he left it; he even spotted his dishes from breakfast the morning before still in the sink.

“We should probably call the cops,” Dean warned as he saw Castiel begin slowly making his way up the stairs. He winced a little when he found himself being ignored, but followed the younger teen anyway.

“It’s alright; I don’t think who ever broke in is here anymore. They must have been here last night.” He paused on the stairs, looking back at Dean with an alarmed look in his eye. “Probably while I was at your place.”

“And your parents?” Dean asked quietly, watching as Castiel’s jaw clenched.

Castiel shook his head and continued climbing the stairs, stopping when he reached the top and taking a sharp intake of breath when he spotted the door to his room open wide.

He made to start for the door but was suddenly pulled back by the sleeve as Dean pushed his way in front of him. “Not so fast, man. We have no idea what’s in there.” Instead, Dean himself made his way slowly to the doorway, peeking his head in cautiously and gasping at what he saw. He made a motion for Castiel to follow him as he pushed his way completely in to the room. “Jesus, Cas, this your room? It’s completely _trashed_.”

Castiel walked around Dean, his eyes going wide at the state of his room. His mattress was almost completely off his bed frame, the sheets tossed on the floor in a big pile. The bookshelf was turned on its side, his books and little souvenirs strewn about on the floor. The lamp had been knocked off of his table and the bulb was shattered on the carpet and all of his belonged on his chest of drawers had been thrown to the floor. Even his closet had been gutted of every last article of clothing. Any piece of furniture that had a drawer had been wrenched open and emptied.

“Wachowski?” Dean asked quietly from behind him as he picked up a book that had had most of its pages torn out.

Castiel shook his head, still in shock and disbelief at what was laid out before him. Connor wouldn’t be _this_ stupid.

“Whoever it was obviously was searching for something,” Dean said, coming up to his side as he glanced around the room once more. “Can you tell if anything is missing?”

Castiel turned in a full circle, eyeing everything that he could. He didn’t have much sentimental attachment to anything in his room, so looking to see if something specific was missing was going to be difficult.

Then his mind instantly zoned in on something he _did_ have an interest in, something that he hadn’t even known he’d possessed until a couple days ago. Without a word he walked in long strides across his room to his chest of drawers, wrenching open one that had only been reclosed halfway. His face went pale as he searched through the almost completely barren compartment frantically.

“Yes,” he breathed, turning to look at Dean in horror. “Yes, something is missing.”

He glanced again at the drawer in disbelief where the long, silver blade he had hidden was now nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in getting this chapter published -- I had tough midterms this semester, and I feel like I'm drowning at work. I finally had some time to sit down and write, and somehow this chapter turned in to just over 15k words?! I don't know how these things happen to me. I thought about splitting it, but in the end couldn't find a great place to do and just thought, screw it, I'll keep it as one. So, hurray long chapter? 
> 
> Anyways, I've gotten a lot of lovely feedback on here and on FF.net since posting my last chapter and I just want to thank everyone for their love. It really makes me happy to see. Thank you! I can't wait for the next chapter, it's going to really get the ball rolling.
> 
> As a side note, Camille was named after my childhood best friend, the character is dedicated to her.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean and church do not...mix. Dean knew that he drew the longest stick when it came to a good life – good with girls, two annoying but lovable little brothers, loved by his parents, a stable home life, et cetera. But Dean didn’t exactly think God deserved a pat on the back for not being a jerk. Did he want a gold star? Was all the praying on his knees on the cold hard floor when he could be out doing something he actually enjoyed really necessary?

The church was hot and stuffy, and Dean pulled at his constricting tie, irritated at the way his dress shirt was sticking to his back from sweat.

“Dean, pay attention,” he heard his mother whisper under her breath, nudging him with her shoe. “And tell your brother to wake up.”

In response Dean rolled his eyes, but nudged Sam hard in the ribs anyways, causing his younger brother to startle awake with an interrupted snore.

“I still don’t understand why I can’t just stay home. This isn’t really my scene mom.”

“Because,” Mary began with a sigh, as though she had given this speech a thousand times before, “all your father asks is that we all spend a couple hours one day of the week doing something as a family, and he deserves that much, at least. And to be quite honest, young man, you could do with a little church in your life.”

Dean scoffed. “Whatever,” he snorted, tapping his hand-me-down bible from his father on his knee absentmindedly. “At least the organ girl is kind of cute.”

_“Dean,_ need I remind you that you are in a house of _God?”_

“Alright, shutting up,” he hastily added, crossing his arms as he watched the priest turn a page in his large bible on the podium he stood behind. “But I’m not drinking Jesus’ blood again. That wine tastes like cheap grocery store nine-bucks-a-bottle crap.”

It was Mary’s turn to roll her eyes.

Dean glanced over to find Sam nodding off again, and Adam right beside him, large dark circles starting to form under his eyes as if he had not gotten a decent night’s sleep in a week. Adam was staring blankly towards the podium, intently listening to every word the priest was mumbling. Any time the congregation was asked to repeat after the priest, Adam only whispered it under his breath, his eyes darting every so often to the space he had insisted on leaving open for his new “friend” Michael. Dean watched him warily for a long minute until his mother was prodding him to pay attention once more.

In all honesty Dean could not recall what the priest was giving his long winded speech about, but after playing flirty eyes with said organ girl for at least half an hour, his mother was squeezing his elbow to tell him Mass had ended.

“I’m going to go speak with Father Juarez for a few minutes to introduce ourselves, try your best to behave yourself for that long, please?” She whispered to him as she rose to her feet, John at her side. They made their way past the pews to the growing crowd surrounding the young priest and greeted him with two matching smiles.

Dean tapped his foot impatiently, letting his head tip back as he watched the rest of the congregation make their way to the exit. When he noticed the freckled organ girl catch his eye across the echoing room he winked, causing her to blush and look away with an inviting small smile.

 “Well hello,” he whispered to himself, grinning at the shy girl as he rose to his feet and shoved his hands in his suit jacket’s pockets. He glanced down at Sam, who had fallen asleep near the end of the priest’s speech and had been impossible to rouse again.

“Sam,” he called, as he kicked in brother in the ankle and watched him wake up spluttering and eyes wide. “Take Adam out to the car, yeah? I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Where are _you_ going?” his brother called after him, but one look in the direction his brother was staring at and he knew instantly what Dean was up to. He pursed his lips and gave his brother a disapproving look before shaking Adam lightly by the shoulder. “Come on Adam, time to go.”

When Adam didn’t answer, only continued to stare at his feet blankly in silence, Sam shook again, slightly harder. “Adam?’

“Adam,” Dean pressed, voice firm as he glanced back at the girl impatiently. “Adam, cut the crap.”

Adam blinked and shuddered, as if shaken right out of a trance, and looked around the room with wide eyes. Finally he settled his stare on Sam, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he would have sworn Adam looked somewhat terrified.

“Wh-what?” the youngest brother whispered in reply, looking back and forth between his two older brothers. His face was now perfectly blank and devoid of any terror he might have held before. “What did you say?”

“What’s wrong with you, dude?” Dean said. “You were way off in la-la land. You missed most of Father Juarez yammering away.”

Adam blinked once, then twice and averted his gaze back down to his feet, confusion apparent on his face. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t remember. I guess I…I don’t know.”

Sam and Dean both exchanged a glance.

“Sounds like baby needs a nap,” Dean snorted as he turned on his heel and began walking towards freckles girl.

“I do not!” Adam cried after him with much more vigor; the color finally returning to his face. “And I am not a baby!” Dean ignored it as Sam hushed their youngest brother and dragging him towards the exit.

Dean was halfway to the girl, who was now packing up her things and eyeing Dean with wide doe eyes, when he spotted a mess of black hair on a head bowed low; the owner hiding quietly off in the far corner of the front pew.

Castiel was leaning intently over a tattered and aged bible, lost in thought as he thumbed through a few pages, deaf to the world around him.

Dean did an almost comical double take as he came to a sudden halt, his mission to get the freckled girl to warm up to him forgotten in an instant. He managed to give her a small wave and apologetic smile, which she returned hesitantly but seemed to understand its meaning.

It was when he turned and immediately started walking over to his classmate without a speck of remorse for leaving the girl hanging that he began wondering when Castiel had started getting in between him and getting laid.

And then there was an image of him and a bed and an imagined hand and Dean was pushing the thought from his mind as fast as possible.

“Cas?”

Castiel glanced up, his eyes tired and his hair messier than usual. He closed the bible he was holding and set it beside him; his eyes lit up with happy recognition.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looked back to the altar and saw his parents still talking up a storm with Father Juarez. He took his hands out of his pockets and sat down in the pew, far enough from Castiel to be safe.

Before he could ask himself _Safe from what exactly?_ he said, “Seems like I run in to you everywhere, man. You look like shit. How late was it until the police finally got out of your ass?”

Castiel winced slightly at the crude phrasing, but answered nonetheless. “After they talked to you they just took my statement and searched for prints; then they left. I spent the rest of the night trying to put everything back together. By the time I finished it was morning, but you can imagine I didn’t feel much like sleeping anyways.”

Dean nodded in understanding. “And your parents?” He asked as he craned his neck to get a look at the congregation still present. He tried to spot anyone who might resemble Castiel in any way, but his classmate seemed to be there alone.

Castiel let out a quiet sarcastic laugh. “They’re gone. Called last night to tell me they’d gone abroad. I let them know what happened.”

Dean stared at him incredulously. When Castiel failed to elaborate further, he pressed, “And?”

“And,” Castiel replied, giving him a bitter smirk, “they told me to make sure I locked the doors and that they’d be home next week or so.” When all he received in return was more stunned staring, Castiel added, “It’s nothing unusual, Dean.”

“That’s complete bullshit, Cas,” Dean said as he leaned back in the pew. Castiel didn’t respond, only leaned over with his elbows on his knees and stared out of the stained glass window next to him quietly.

Dean watched him from the corner of his eye, then dropped his gaze down to the antique bible between them. “You come here every Sunday?”

Castiel shrugged. “Every now and then,” he mumbled as he placed his palm over the bible by his side. “Sometimes I just like to sit and listen. After yesterday I needed something to take things off my mind.”

“So you’re pretty religious then?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Religion has its…its issues. But I think that at the heart of it, when you take away Man and his biases and look at it the way God intended it, it can be insightful.”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “You’re strange, Cas.”

The younger teen let out a huff of breath that resembled a laugh. “What about you, Dean? Why are you here?”

Dean jerked his thumb back in the direction of his parents. “My dad.” He pulled out his own bible from his jacket pocket and held it up for Castiel to see. “Every Sunday, rain or shine.”

“So I take it you’re not religious?”

“Yeah, I’m just not so sure about all of this God stuff. Seems a bit full of himself if you ask me. And then there’s this crap about Heaven and Hell, and I don’t know. It just seems all so silly, doesn’t it? Angels; demons. No such thing, right?”

Castiel smiled and shrugged his shoulders slightly. He picked up his bible and opened it to a marked page, giving Dean one last glance before turning his attention to the open book.

“Isaiah 30:18,” he began, his finger hovering over a passage.  _“_ _Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him._ _”_ When he finished, he looked up at Dean expectantly, who only gave a shrug in question. “Doesn’t seem like such a bad guy, does he?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, we’ll call that whole business with Abraham and his son a fluke.”

Castiel’s smile was a little brighter this time, his tiredness seeming to melt away from his features. “Alright, fair enough. Point taken.” He turned back to the bible in his hands and flipped to another page. Bringing it closer to his nose as he read, “John 3:1,  _See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are._ ” Dean moved to speak, but Castiel quieted him by raising his hand.  He continued, this one from memory, “Proverbs 8:17,  _I love those who love me, and those who seek me diligently find me._ ”

There was a moment of silence before Dean shrugged again. “Dunno what you’re trying to convince me of, Cas. Seems like pretty deadbeat God to make you come to him. And then when you ask for him he doesn’t show up.”

“Maybe he does and you don’t realize.”

“C’mon, Cas. God’s the world’s biggest flake; never seems there when you need him.”

Castiel turned to him. “You seem to be pretty happy, Dean. You have friends, family. God can’t really have it in for you that bad, can he?”

Dean felt a pang of remorse jolt through him as he thought of Castiel’s parents and their absence, but if the junior held any contempt for Dean and his personal fortunes, his warm smile didn’t show it.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said as he tapped his bible on his knee again anxiously.

“You don’t think God has a plan for you?”

“I don’t think God cares. I haven’t exactly lived by his moral code.”

Castiel tilted his head. “How do you mean?”

“For starters? I’ve had, uh, what do they call it in school... _Intercourse._ Before marriage. Lots of it,” he said, counting on his fingers for emphasis. “Stolen things. Been in fights. Lied. Cheated. Drank. Smoked. I could go on but you get the gist.”

“You think God truly cares about things like that?”

Dean crossed his arms and smirked. “All I’m saying is that when the time comes I don’t think God’s gonna make an exception for me at the pearly gates if you know what I mean. And that’s _if_ he exists. Better enjoy it while I can, right? No point in saving someone who doesn’t deserve to be saved, Cas. When it all comes down to it no one is gonna care.”

Castiel stared at him with earnest, attempting to decipher something in Dean’s words that he didn’t understand. Dean looked away, embarrassed by the scrutiny. His parents seemed to be wrapping up their conversation with the priest, and Sam and Adam were probably waiting impatiently by the car. Organ girl had left ages ago. He turned to sneak a look back at Castiel, watching how intently and fondly the boy seemed to look at the pages of his book as he read verses that, from the look at how worn his bible was, he’d read many times before.

“So, you seem to read that a lot,” Dean mused, gesturing to all of the bookmarks and notes written in the margins. “What’s your favorite?”

Castiel wrinkled his nose in confusion. “Favorite?”

“Yeah. Your favorite, you know, paragraph… thing.”

The junior gave Dean a lopsided grin. “You mean passage? Verse?”

“Yeah, that.”

Castiel clicked his tongue in thought as he looked at the ceiling, thousands of verses rushing through his brain as he tried to pinpoint the one he was looking for. Suddenly his eyes lit up and he was thumbing through his book with intent until he found the page he was looking for. Dean instinctively moved closer to Castiel, leaning over his shoulder to see the page better. Castiel gave him a nervous glance and dropped his voice down to a whisper as he read aloud.

“Matthew 19:14, _Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God._ ”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s it? No epic passages about smiting or holy wars? A little underwhelming, Cas.”

“That’s because you aren’t looking at it close enough. The thing about the bible is that you have to wade through the bias of the—if you’ll forgive the term—bullshit, and find God’s message. What do you _think_ it means?”

Dean shrugged.

“Dean, you have to at least try.”

Sighing, Dean relaxed his stiff, defensive stance. “Well, seems like God is saying kids are gonna get in to Heaven by default?” Castiel nodded. “So basically kids get to pass Go, collec two hundred dollars, and get a free ticket to Heaven?”

Castiel hummed, shaking his head slightly. “Not quite.”

“Then you’re just gonna have to tell me. I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

When Castiel slid his hand over to take hold of the bible still in Dean’s grasp, a shiver was sent straight up the senior’s spine. He watched unblinking as Castiel slowly pried the bible out of Dean’s grasp, whose grip had hardened at Castiel’s proximity to him.

“Once again, you’re giving yourself and your intelligence far too little credit, Dean,” he said in a low voice as he opened Dean’s bible, looking up at Dean from under his lashes with a stare that made the older boy’s mouth run dry. He licked his lips.

Castiel turned to the page he was seeking and took a pen out of his pocket, quickly scribbling something on the page. “I think it will mean more if you figure it out for yourself. I think it suits you well.”

With that Castiel closed the book and offered it back to Dean, who took it warily as he tried to keep the blush creeping up on his cheeks at bay, but something told him Castiel saw it anyway.

He pocketed the bible and watched as Castiel got to his feet, tucking his own book under his arm and putting his free hand in his pocket.

“You’re a weird kid,” was all Dean managed to choke out around the lump in his throat. Castiel only smiled in response.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dean.”

“Y-yeah. See ya.”

Castiel made it two or three steps before Dean hastily added, “And Cas? You should probably remember to do that whole locking doors thing. Just in case.”

“I will.”

And then Castiel was gone, hidden amongst the last wave of the congregation to leave and slipping out of the exit unnoticed. Afterwards Dean would kick himself for not offering Castiel a ride home, as he was positive the boy was going to walk.

“Ready to go, son?”

John’s firm voice pulled Dean out of his thoughts and he was instantly to his feet, the bible Castiel handed him gripped in his hand like a vice. “Yes sir.”

“Was that Cas?” Mary wondered as she watched the exit. “Is he alright from yesterday? Poor boy. I worry about him, what with the break in and everything.”

“Yeah, he’s alright mom. He’s a tough kid,” Dean said as they made their way towards the parking lot.

Sam and Adam were leaning against the car, Adam looking cross as ever. When they unlocked the doors and all three Winchester boys climbed in to the seats in the back of Mary’s soccer mom minivan, Dean turned his body to hide his hands as he pulled out the bible and opened the pages. It took longer than Dean a while to actually find the page he was looking for, but when he did his heart leapt up to his throat in anticipation, and he lifted the book closer to his face to read Castiel’s small handwriting next to the passage.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so interested in the note. He wasn’t sure how Castiel had gotten him so interested in deciphering his bible, but then again Castiel had a way of crawling under his skin in ways that Dean had never experienced in anyone. Castiel was strange, far too strange for Dean. Too awkward, too quiet. Dean liked tight jeans and cropped tank tops, not baggy clothes and sweaters.

And yet the eldest Winchester still found himself roped in by Castiel’s game, and he knew he was completely lost in it when he read the words the teen had scribbled for him in a book that had seen more use today than it probably ever had since its previous owner.

The passage Castiel read was circled, and next to it in small, jagged cursive the words read,

_Dean Winchester deserves to be saved._

 

***

 

The following week passed painfully slow. With the project over and done with, Dean found himself looking for reasons to talk to Castiel both in and outside of the classroom. Sam spent most of the morning car ride chatting it up with Castiel about something that Dean did not care about, and he had eventually turned up his music loud enough to drown them out in frustration. Sometimes he found himself roaming past Sam’s locker in between classes when Castiel was there putting his books away to inform his brother of some unimportant detail about dinner or something equally as useless. Sam would wrinkle his nose in confusion before his face settled in to an expression that Dean couldn’t read. The one time Sam let a smile slip from his lips Dean threatened to leave him at school that day, followed by a very quiet ‘shut up, Samantha’.

Apparently Camille had decided that she was not going to budge from her seat behind Castiel in math, much to Dean’s chagrin. It wasn’t that he wanted the seat or anything; more specifically he didn’t want _Camille_ to have the seat. Or something like that. It didn’t make much sense to him either.

In fact, if Dean didn’t know any better, he would say that Camille had it in for him, too. Dean had fallen in to the habit of eating with the seniors during lunch, but found himself Monday afternoon glaring daggers across the cafeteria when he noticed Camille and Castiel eating alone together at an empty table. The pretty brunette Anne had attempted to distract him with a story about something she did over the weekend, but Dean didn’t pay one bit of attention to it. Instead he eyed the two across the lunch hall, stabbing his peas with more force than was really necessary.

That was just Monday.

Tuesday Dean was nonplussed to find Camille standing by Castiel at his locker during every break between classes, asking about a homework assignment or about weekend plans. Dean had attempted to worm his way in to the conversation after lunch, but was foiled in talking to Castiel alone when Sam had made his entrance soon after.

Wednesday afternoon it rained, so the juniors and seniors both had to share the gym, and the two coaches had decided a friendly game of junior versus senior dodge ball was in order to pass the time. Castiel was out in the first five seconds, a nasty throw from Connor aimed right at his skull that the junior managed to block with his arm at the last second. Castiel seemed unbothered by it, perfectly happy to sit on the bench and watch the game from afar. Dean was happy to see Connor receive a ball to his groin shortly thereafter, and was impressed by Camille’s persuasive fake apology she gave to Coach Sims for it. The smile was wiped off his face a few minutes later when he received a rubber ball right to his nose, and Camille’s apology was much less convincing that time around.

By Thursday Camille and Dean had both dropped all pretenses and had devolved in to plainly exchanging glares when they came within twenty feet of each other. If Castiel noticed it, he didn’t say anything.

When the bell signaling the end of the day rang Friday afternoon, Dean heaved a sigh of relief to himself. He had been working himself up all week to ask Castiel to keep his promise of watching Die Hard that night, but had never gotten the proper chance to ask. It was either now or never.

Well – “never” being next weekend. A week. Seven more days. But Dean wasn’t counting.

Dean was leaning against his baby, her black paint warm against his back in the afternoon sun. He had one hand jammed far in to his leather jacket, and his other was thumbing through his phone absentmindedly. When he heard the footsteps walking up to him, he immediately flipped it closed, about to look up to greet either Castiel or his brother.

But it was not Sam or Castiel’s face that met his. Dean swallowed hard.

“Winchester,” Camille said quietly in greeting, her arms crossed over her body. Dean craned his head to look behind her, but Castiel was nowhere to be found. She was alone.

“Camille,” he tried to reply in an even tone, but it ended up sounding more biting than he intended.

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time here, so I’m going to be perfectly blunt,” she began, her voice low as she stepped closer to Dean, who stood his ground. “From the moment we met in math I could tell you had a problem with me.”

“Wait, are you kidding me?” Dean exclaimed, his fists balling at his sides. “As I recall, you’re the one who marked me on your shit list first—”

“Look, that’s not what I’m here to talk about,” she interrupted. “I don’t care what you think about me, Dean Winchester. You’re shallow and loud and rash,” Her crossed hands fell to her bag on her shoulder. “And also apparently very easy to instigate in to jealousy, which I can assure you is completely unnecessary.”

Dean stared at her incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself; I only came out here to tell you that we don’t have to like each other, but Castiel is _my_ friend, too.”

“You’ve been here two weeks!” Dean cried, his hands coming out of his jacket and his anger rising up in the pit of his stomach. “I’ve known him a _year_!”

Camille’s jaw fell open slightly. The two shared a wide-eyed stare, completely silent for a long moment. “What did you just say?”

The senior continued to stare at her as if he was looking for an answer in her; his lungs seized up like the wind had been knocked right out of him. Finally he blinked; his voice was hoarse when he finally replied, “Two—two weeks. That’s what I said. That’s what I meant. Two weeks.”

Camille’s mouth formed a thin line, her eyebrows knitted together intensely as she studied him. “Why did you say that?”

“I—I just misspoke,” Dean said defensively, his mood suddenly more sour than alarmed, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than his classmate.

Camille was gripping her bag so tight her knuckles had turned white. They exchanged one last silent, tense moment before her grip relaxed, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

“Just remember what I said,” she ground out, her voice low and gruff. With that she was turning on her heel and floating away back towards the building and ducking inside.

Dean had little time to dwell on the strangeness of what had just occurred, as the next figure to emerge out of the building was Sam, tall and lanky as ever and a goofy grin plastered across his face as he walked with a young girl with curly blonde hair falling to her shoulders. Dean’s irritation was forgotten as he watched his younger brother nearly trip over his too-big feet and Dean choked down a bark of laughter at his brother’s expense. The girl walking with him caught him by the shoulder, smiling warmly at the clumsiness and taking Sam’s books in to her own hands. She leaned in close to him, asking something, and a very red flush crept up to Sam’s face and ears.

The younger Winchester looked towards the car where Dean was watching him with an amused expression, then nodded to the young blonde and immediately started making his way over alone.

“What’s up, Samantha?” Dean called teasingly as his brother reached him. “Who’s the pretty bird?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “No one.”

“Doesn’t look like no one to me.”

“She’s just a girl, Dean. I mean, she’s in my biology class. I-I mean—Jess. Her name is Jess.”

Dean clicked his tongue as he pushed away from the Impala, watching as the girl, Jess, stuffed some of Sam’s books in her backpack. _Oh._

“Let me guess,” he said, turning back to Sam, “I’m not driving your geeky ass home?”

Sam flushed even more scarlet. “She asked me to walk her home; I-I said I would.”

“Ah, that’s my boy, only here two weeks and already got a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean said as he pulled out his wallet and began fishing around for something.

Sam eyed his brother warily. “What are you doing?”

When Dean finally found what he was looking for and pulled out a condom in a silver wrapper, Sam looked horrified.

“Dean!”

“C’mon Sammy, what kind of brother would I be if I didn’t make sure my baby brother used protection?”

“Dean, stop! I don’t need that!”

“Oh Sammy, if I had a nickel for every time I said the same thing and then got caught unprepared,” Dean began, his grin growing wider with every word he uttered.

Sam groaned. “ _Dean_ ,” he whined, his face an impossible beet color now. “I can’t _believe_ you sometimes.”

“Just take it, Sammy.”

“No!”

_“Take it.”_

His face livid, Sam finally snatched the condom away from his brother, glancing at Jess and hoping she didn’t see it. “I hate you.”

“You love me. Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled as he turned to walk back towards Jess. “Just tell Cas I said bye.”

“Sure, I’ll let you’re other girlfriend know you send your love.”

Sam turned to face him then, the most frightening smirk Dean had ever seen on his face. “Dean, please. You aren’t fooling anyone.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“The only one you’re actually fooling at this point is probably Cas himself.”

_“What?”_

Dean didn’t get an answer; he was spluttering and trying to form a coherent comeback that never came as his brother disappeared with Jess right behind him back in to the school.

He was left staring at his feet, his brother’s words still swimming in his mind when he saw a pair of feet appear next to him.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean might have jumped a foot in the air, not that he would ever admit it, and dropped his wallet and keys in his surprise.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Cas! How do you _do_ that?”

“Do what?”

“That!” Dean hissed as he gestured wildly at Castiel. “That ‘sneaking up on people like a fucking creeper’ shit! You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep ninja-ing yourself around like that.”

“Sorry, Dean. Where’s Sam?” Castiel asked, his backpack slung on one shoulder and his sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows in the warm air.

Dean shook his head, bending over to pick up his dropped belongings as Castiel eyed him. “He’s not coming. Had a date,” Dean said as he unlocked his door, Castiel himself walking to the passenger side and climbing inside. It felt so natural to him now. “So, I was thinking, when do your folks get home?”

Castiel watched as Dean turned the car on and the engine purred to life. “Monday; why?”

“You still up for some Die Hard and possibly a few crappy yet awesome sequels?”

“Sure. And popcorn too?”

“Of course.” Dean put the Impala in reverse, turned on his favorite tape, and drove out of the parking lot without another word.

 

***

 

“You want something to drink?” Dean called back to Castiel, who was still taking his shoes off at the door.

“I’m alright.”

Dean grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator, his eyes falling on the scribbled note pinned under a school bus magnet to the door.

“Mom went out for a bit,” Dean said, showing the note to Castiel as he came strolling in to the kitchen. “Says to look after Adam.” Dean paused.

“Adam?” he called towards the stairs, waiting a few seconds and shrugging when he did not get a response. “That kid’s been acting weird lately.”

Dean shook his head and took a sip of his drink. Suddeny short and loud _thump!_ resonated from somewhere upstairs, startling both teenagers and causing Dean to spill some soda from his newly opened can.

“Adam, whatever the fuck you’re doing up there, stop!” Dean warned as he brushed the liquid off his shirt. “Do not make me come up there.”

Dean gave Castiel an apologetic look before taking a long drink from his can, tipping his head back and downing nearly half of it.

Castiel was unsure of what he should do—his cheeks burned hot as he caught a glimpse of Dean’s throat quiver slightly as he drank. At once he found himself suddenly interested in the tiled floor of the kitchen instead, and he felt like his ears were on fire. He flung out an arm to lean against the kitchen tabletop, hoping it would seem casual enough, but he was fairly sure he looked mortifyingly awkward.

It was when he stole one last split-second look back up at Dean that he realized said teenager was watching him out of the corner of his eye as well, his gaze half-lidded. Both realizing they’d been caught, the two quickly turned away from each other, Dean spluttering on the soda that he drank too fast and was now burning in his throat.

Once he had finished coughing, he managed to choke out “Cas, listen—” before another solid thud, louder this time and from the same place upstairs, rung in their ears.

“Are you _serious_?” Dean hissed, slamming the can down on the countertop and storming from the kitchen. “I’ll be right back. _Adam!_ ”

Dean ascended the stairs, taking two at a time in irritation at the interruption.

“Adam, you’re my little brother and I love you,” he began as he reached the top of the steps and rounded on Adam’s bedroom door, which was slightly ajar, “but I need you to not be a brat for like an hour. Tops. I’m kinda in the middle of something he—”

Dean froze in the doorway, his body instantly seizing up as a chill slowly spread over him. Something was definitely _off_ , and the eeriness had stopped Dean dead in his tracks—had sucked the unfinished sentence right out of him.

“Adam?”

The room was empty, and Dean was _sure_ the sound had come from his youngest brother’s room. Dean was about to turn around and continue the search in the other rooms, put off by the disturbing quiet coming from Adam’s, when he noticed it. The window had been wrenched open, and a cool summer breeze was filling up the deserted room.

“Adam!” Dean cried, propelling himself across the room with such momentum that he almost flew right through the window, barely catching himself on the ledge. His heart was pounding so fast in his chest that he felt like he’d been lit on fire from the inside, a hundred horrible scenarios darting through his mind all at once. He whipped his head around, first right and then left until he finally spotted his brother.

But instead of the sight of Adam relieving any worry, Dean’s heart began to pound in his chest even faster, his eyes going wide as he saw his youngest brother standing so close to the edge of the roof that his toes were hanging off the side. His body was relaxed and loose, and his eyes staring at the ground blankly.

Dean screamed his brother’s name again, louder and more hysterical this time as he searched for anything, _anything_ he could use. “Adam; Adam get down from there _right now_. Adam! Come over here!”

Adam finally seemed to register Dean’s presence; he turned his head slightly in Dean’s direction and his eyes widened in recognition.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he said, his voice calm and even. “I’ll be okay. He told me to do it.”

“ _Who_ told you? Adam, just get—Cas! Cas come up here quick!” Dean pulled his head inside for just a fraction of a second to call down the stairs, hoping Castiel would able to hear. Dean swallowed hard, trying to calm his voice. “Adam, give me your hand. Please.”

“He said he would protect me. He won’t let anything bad happen to me, Dean. He said so.”

“Adam, _who_ is telling you to do this? _Who_?”

Suddenly Castiel was right behind him; Dean could feel him as a hand was placed on the small of his back. He didn’t look back, instead keeping his gaze locked on Adam.

“Adam, you need to come inside now. You’re going to get hurt,” Dean continued, attempting to make his voice sound as reassuring as possible, but his voice cracked anyways.

“He won’t let me get hurt. He said I have to do this.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“To prove that I believe in him.”

Realizing that talking was getting him nowhere, Dean gave a pleading look to Castiel, who was listening intently to what Adam was saying. Castiel nodded wordlessly, and Dean understood.

“Watch my back,” Dean grunted as he shrugged off his jacket for better mobility and began climbing out of the window. He hissed in pain when his knee banged against the ledge and his hand slipped off of the roof, causing Dean to lurch forward. His heart caught in his throat until he felt a pair of strong hands grab at his shirt and his back, stabilizing him.

Slowly, Dean started to rise to his feet, the wind and his shaking legs causing him to almost be thrown off balance twice. Adam watched him, his stare intense.

Once Dean rose to full height, he put on his best warm smile, but it was faltering easily. Attempting to keep his voice even and encouraging, he said quietly, “Alright Adam, that’s enough. Time to go inside now.”

“Dean,” Adam replied, his voice low and angry. “I have to do this.”

“Why can’t we talk about this?” Dean made the mistake of looking over the edge of the roof. The ground was far enough away that if someone fell at the wrong angle, it could almost certainly end in a broken neck. He grimaced and glanced back at Castiel, who was now halfway out of the window himself, watching Dean carefully.

Adam finally noticed the junior, his eyes growing dark. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“He’s here to help, Adam. Cas is gonna help us—”

“I don’t want him here!” Adam emphasized his point by stepping even closer to the edge. A simple breeze would have been able to send him toppling over at any time.

“Adam, listen to me,” Dean countered, maneuvering to block Castiel from Adam’s view. “I’m gonna come over there, and you’re gonna give me your hand, and we’re gonna go inside and this is will all be over, alright?”

Adam smiled in response, but Dean could see something incredibly _not Adam_ in his features. “Dean, it’s okay. Just trust me.” And then Adam opened his arms, swung one foot over the edge,  and pitched himself forward.

Without hesitation, Dean instinctually grabbed for his youngest brother, sending even more momentum towards the edge of the roof. Dean felt his feet slide out from underneath him as his hands found Adam, and his first instinct as he felt himself falling was to pull his brother in to him and put as much of himself between Adam and the ground as possible. He heard Adam cry out, and Dean held him even closer as he screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for the impact of the driveway below.

But the impact never came. There were hard fingers grabbing at him, around his arm and fisting in his shirt, and Dean felt gravity slowly, impossibly, pulling off of him. Instead of his face meeting rough, hard cement, he next found himself landing on soft carpet as he and Adam were both pulled in with tremendous force back through the window. All three boys went toppling to the ground, knocking over a lamp in the process.

At once Adam was clinging to Dean, his face buried in his brother’s shirt as a broken sob escaped him.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Dean whispered reassuringly as he held his brother close, sobs continuing to wrack through the youngest Winchester’s body. Dean stared at Castiel, whose breathing was ragged and his stare concerned. “You okay?” Dean mouthed to him, not trusting his voice at the moment. Castiel nodded frantically.

“I didn’t want to,” Adam cried suddenly, his voice muffled by Dean’s shirt. “I didn’t want to. He made me.”

“Who, Adam? Who made you?”

“ _Michael._ ”

Dean’s eyes snapped back up to Castiel, whose gaze had immediately darted to the ground, the tell tale look of confusion creeping up on Castiel’s face. The junior darted his eyes around quickly, looking as if he was on the verge of remembering something incredibly important.

“Michael? Adam, your ‘ _friend’_ Michael?”

“Yes!”

Holding his brother tighter still and soothing him with a hand on his head, Dean whispered low to Castiel, “Something is very, very wrong here.”

“I’m sure he’s just confused, Dean,” Castiel offered, but he still looked utterly terrified about something.

“No, Cas. Not just that.” Dean glanced up at the window. “My dad nailed all the second floor windows shut when we moved in for this very fucking reason, Cas. As child-proofing. Adam had a habit of climbing out of our windows at our last place.” His eyes narrowed as he spotted something right next to Castiel’s knee, using his free hand to pick it up. In his grasp he held a very long metal nail that had been bent almost in half. “There is no fucking way Adam could have opened this, Cas. No way. Only someone— _something_ —very, _very_ powerful could get this window open.”

Castiel took the nail from Dean’s fingers. “So what could it have been?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

Dean just stared at him, shaking his head as Adam’s sobs finally died down to occasional whimpers.

“I have no idea, Cas. I have no fucking clue.” Dean watched as Castiel got to his feet and shut the window forcefully. “But I’ll tell you one thing; I am fucking _scared_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter seven is finished and will be uploaded in a bit -- the reason being I originally wrote 6 and 7 as one chapter, and it was much too long (16k words is really too long, right?). Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally part of six, but I cut it for length. Also I want to toss out the warning that this chapter has some intense homophobic related violence in it.
> 
> As always, thank you for all your lovely comments and for reading!

Two weeks passed after ‘the incident’ and though the two found themselves gravitating towards each other more and more, Castiel barely spoke to Dean. Castiel didn’t mind much, because there wasn’t anything really _to_ be said. After Dean had calmed Adam down from hysteria and tucked him away in his own bed, the eldest Winchester had grabbed Castiel firmly by the shoulders and asked him very plainly to never mention what had happened. Not even to Sam.

“Why?” Castiel had asked, confused and still shaken as he watched Dean nail the window in Adam’s room shut once more. “Shouldn’t you tell your parents?”

Dean shook his head. “What am I going to tell them, Cas? That Adam somehow got his nailed-shut window open and tried to take a swan dive off the roof? That’s gonna open way more cans of worms than I can deal with right now.” Castiel had to wait while Dean banged the final nail in to reply.

“You have to tell someone, Dean. You can’t handle this alone.”

Dean looked up at him, something thoughtful passing across his face and then gone in an instant. He threw the hammer back in the tool box. “I told you, didn’t I?”

Castiel nodded slowly and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Fair enough.”

Dean brought his fist to his mouth, biting hard on a knuckle as if he was trying his best to refrain from saying something. He continued to glare at the window. Castiel waited, his breath caught in his throat as Dean opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, decided not to, and closed his mouth again, turning to face the bed.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Castiel watched with a pang of sympathy as Dean’s shoulder shook once and then slumped.

“I don’t know what to do, Cas,” he repeated in a hoarse whisper. “I’m not cut out for something like this.”

Slowly Castiel inched forward, his hand outstretched. He pulled it back once in hesitation before firmly planting it on Dean’s shoulder and giving a reassuring squeeze, not sure if it was what Dean really needed at the moment. Dean tensed visibly for a long second, but then immediately sank in to the touch, relaxing under the grip.

“You’ll be alright, Dean,” Castiel murmured, letting his grip loosen and his hand fall away. “I’ll help you. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

Before Castiel had time to register it and step back, Dean had rounded on him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. For a brief second Castiel panicked, wondering if Dean was going to strike him or blame him for Adam’s bizarre actions. But Dean just bore down into him with his gaze before jerking him forward into a warm, tight embrace.

Stunned, Castiel did not have any idea how he should react. Dean definitely did not come across as a hugging type of person, and Castiel had never been very receptive to them either—not to Camille, his parents, or even to Mary—but this embrace, it felt so needful, so incredibly needful, and Castiel soon found himself lifting up his hands and winding them around Dean’s back, returning the action.

Perhaps it worked so well because it was so foreign to the both of them.

Dean himself seemed to relax at this, whatever trepidation at the action he had melting away when Castiel seemed to reciprocate it. The seconds seemed to tick by at a crawl, and it felt like an hour at least had passed before Dean finally added a preemptive and defensive warning,

“I don’t normally do this, you know.”

Castiel placed his palm firmly on the small of Dean’s back. “I know.”

“I don’t do chick flick moments.”

“I know, Dean.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

“Of course, Dean.”

A long silence loomed over them, Dean’s arms still firmly wrapped around Castiel, showing no sign of letting up any time soon. Eventually he opted for dropping his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder, emotionally exhausted. “I almost—” he choked out, having to start over. “I almost lost my brother back there.”

Castiel did not respond, only brought his hand up to place it on the back of Dean’s neck in what he hoped was a soothing touch. Dean did not seem to mind it.

“I think about him, just—just lying there, Cas. Dead. My fault. And I just,” Dean trailed off.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Castiel replied, his voice suddenly firm and grave. He pulled away slightly from Dean then, forcing Dean bring his head up from Castiel’s shoulder. The anguish hidden just beneath the surface of Dean’s hard features still apparent despite his best efforts to hide it. “Dean, in no way was this your fault. Don’t think something like that.”

Dean gave him a look, one that was impossible to read. Dean’s left hand came up to clamp down on the junior’s shoulder with more pressure than necessary, but Castiel welcomed the grounding touch. He offered up a gentle smile as reassurance, and Dean’s breath visibly hitched.

The senior’s thumb began massaging feather light circles in to Castiel’s collarbone, something that caused a fluttering feeling deep in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re really weird, Cas, you know that?” Dean whispered in something that resembled a low and repressed growl. He didn’t leave Castiel time to answer as he slid his hand up towards the juncture between the younger teen’s neck and shoulder, where he noted that his hand seemed to fit perfectly like the space was molded to his very touch.

Castiel held his breath, confused and ecstatic and completely terrified all in one crazy emotional tidal wave that washed over him. He watched as Dean stared with an almost predatory glare at his neck, where the older teen’s hand began rubbing with a little more audacity.

It was when his hand crept up a few inches higher, his hand hooking behind Castiel’s ear and thumb brushing across Castiel’s cheek that Dean’s name fell from the junior’s lips in a pleased hiss, and instantly Dean’s hand was gone, the senior reeling back and pulling away like he’d caught fire.

Castiel wanted to snatch his hand and place it back where it was, but he was frozen in his place, something that was not _quite_ embarrassment manifesting in a flush on his face.

“I’m—I—” Dean started, fumbling over his words as he wiped his palms nervously on his jeans. He closed his eyes, regaining a shred of composure and finally saying, “I think I should just drive you home; shouldn’t make you have to deal with all of this crap with Adam. Rain check on Die Hard?”

Castiel was too stunned in to silence to speak, only nodding his head and silently agreeing that it was the best course of action at that moment. “I’ll walk,” he croaked, clearing his throat and trying again, a little firmer. “You need to stay with Adam.”

Dean made to protest, but Castiel shook his head once with finality. “Dean, stay with Adam. I’ll be fine to walk home this once. I promise.”

The senior found himself nodding in agreement; he scrubbed his face with one hand and was horrified to find his face hot and sweaty. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds alright. Just be uh—just be safe.”

“I will,” Castiel responded quietly, making his way towards the bedroom door. Dean did not make a move to follow him.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean suddenly said from behind him. There was a long pause as Castiel turned to face him with a very fake, reassuring smile, a troubled look plastered all over Dean’s features. “We’ll uh—we’ll watch it tomorrow. Sound good?”

Castiel’s face fell just a fraction of an inch. He could tell Dean had meant to say something else entirely, deciding at the last second to steer his thoughts in a different direction.

“Yes, Dean. Tomorrow.” Without another word, Castiel hauled himself down the stairs, hastily donned his jacket and shoes, and was out the door without a glance back.

They did not watch Die Hard the next day, nor the next weekend, even.

That was two weeks ago, and though neither boy spoke of what had occurred in Adam’s bedroom on a late, warm Friday afternoon, it obviously loomed between them heavily.

Dean had not been avoiding him like Castiel had honestly expected. In fact, Dean had seemed to be a step behind Castiel during period breaks, and had even begun to claim a spot at the lunch table he shared with Camille. Granted, there was little conversation to be had—Castiel did not have much to talk about, and Camille and Dean seemed to either glare at each other or competitively race to finish their food first. Castiel was positive that Dean would be having much more fun over at his table with his more sociable friends, but Dean seemed at least somewhat content and it made Castiel content in return. Happy, even.

Castiel would throw a quick glance at Dean in math and catch the senior staring right back, and both would immediately look away, blaming coincidence and nothing more. Dean would race off of the field early in gym to get to the showers first, catching small glimpses of Castiel running laps in the gym with his class.

Today Castiel had finally worked up the courage to stay behind after Sam had left the car that morning, Jess waiting for him by the building’s entrance, and ask him how Adam had been fairing.

“He’s doing alright,” Dean had said, avoiding Castiel’s eye contact like he might catch fire if he looked. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Doesn’t remember much.”

Castiel nodded. He was about to say that it might be for the best, but he was beginning to wonder if it really was.

Dean did not follow him in to the building, and when Castiel arrived at his locker he found the same pretty blonde he’d seen in passing by Sam’s side talking with the younger Winchester excitedly. Castiel was about to turn around, give Sam some privacy, but was caught before he could melt away in to the crowd.

“Hey, Cas, wait up! Have you met Jess?”

Castiel turned back to face them, Jess had one hand on her hip and a broad, bright smile that was too infectious for Castiel to not immediately reciprocate.

“Jess, this is Castiel. Castiel, Jess,” Sam offered, gesturing between the two of them.

“Hi, Castiel,” she said in greeting, giving him a small wave. “I like your name. Castiel was an angel, right?”

Castiel was surprised; he’d never encountered anyone who had recognized his name before. “Yes, the angel of Thursday.”

“Bible school,” Jess said, smiling and rolling her eyes in a way that didn’t seem offensive in the slightest. “My parents made me go every Sunday. Still remember a few things.” She shifted her book to rest on her hip. “Castiel got the boring job if I remember correctly. Didn’t he just… watch Earth all the time?”

Castiel let out a breathy laugh, impressed by her knowledge. “Maybe he liked it. Watching humanity. Could be nice.”

Jess grinned. “Yeah, the way you eye Sam’s older brother like a hawk it would seem your namesake would be proud.”

Castiels jaw fell open, a very inhuman noise fighting its way out of his mouth as Sam bit back a laugh that still made its way out a least partly through his nose in a snort.

“Jess!” Sam scolded, but it didn’t sound very convincing. Castiel’s ears were on fire, and his eyes wide in mortification.

“I kid!” Jess laughed, patting Castiel on the shoulder. “Your secret is totally safe with us, Castiel. Scout’s honor.” The bell signaling the beginning of class rang loudly through the crowded hall, and before Castiel had proper time to think up a response, Sam and Jess were already making their way down the hall, Jess calling fondly after him, “It was nice meeting you, angel of Thursday!”

Castiel smiled after them, watching as the two locked arms, Jess gesturing and laughing about something he couldn’t hear, and Sam looking down at her like she was the sun in the center of his universe. He felt his chest ache as he watched them go, and a strange, sudden sad feeling washed over him that he couldn’t even begin to place.

He turned back to his locker, quickly turning the dial and pulling open the locker. Before he could reach for his math book, the metal door was immediately slammed closed.

“Heya, Cassie.”

Castiel didn’t have to turn to know who was looming over him, the breath hot on his shoulder.

“Hello, Connor,” he sighed as he began turning the dial again. Connor reached over and placed his hand firmly against the door, keeping the junior from trying to reopen it.

“I’m gonna cut right to the chase today, Cas,” Connor spat out. Castiel turned slightly towards him, his eyes level with Connor’s. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. Today at lunch, I’m gonna be out on the field, right by the bleachers, and you know what you’re gonna do, Cas?”

Castiel’s face remained blank. He did not answer.

“You’re gonna meet me out there, and we’re gonna have a nice talk. Just a little chat.”

“Forget it, Connor,” Castiel replied, his voice low in warning. “I’m not playing your games anymore.”

Connor leered down at him. “I thought you might say that, so I’ve set up a little incentive for ya. You’ll find I’m pretty persuasive, Cas.”

“It’s Castiel,” the junior hissed in reply, finally wrenching his locker open by force. “And I don’t know what you have planned, but I’d rethink it if I were you.”

“See, that’s the feisty Cassie that I want today at lunch.” Connor patted him roughly on the cheek and Castiel slapped his hand away fiercely. “Tell that pussy boyfriend of yours Dean fucking Winchester that he’s invited too. It’ll be a party.”

Castiel did not ask what Connor had planned—did not respond in any way as the older teen left except a giving him glare that did not leave dissipate even as Connor rounded the corner with an audible laugh. Castiel slowly pulled out his math book, his features still hardened even as he closed the locker and headed to class, late.

When he walked him, Mr. Schwartz barked at him for his tardiness, and Castiel simply replied with a cold, “Sorry, sir,” before he took his seat.

Dean had noticed the sudden change in Castiel’s mood, silently mouthing “You okay?” when he finally caught Castiel’s eye. Castiel just nodded curtly once, doing the same when Camille asked again from behind him.

For the first time, both Dean and Camille exchanged a mutual glance that was not of dislike, but worry.

 

***

 

 

It was right after gym, as Camille and Castiel headed from the locker rooms to lunch, that it happened. Castiel was smiling at something Camille had told him just as they passed the main office when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is that—is that Sam?”

Castiel’s face scrunched up in confusion, his head whirling around to pinpoint what she was looking at. His eyes landed on a figure sitting in one of the chairs by the principal’s office. Castiel’s heart twisted in a knot when he recognized exactly who it was.

Sam was hunched over, elbows on his knees, and holding something up to his face gingerly.

“Sam?” Castiel called warily, his jaw falling slack in surprise when Sam heard his name and looked up at the two standing in the doorway of the office.

The right side of his face was bruised purple and red, his eye swollen and getting puffier by the second. His lip was split too, and also present on his hands were what looked like defensive bruises.

“Sam,” Camille said, horrified as she walked over to him. “Sam, what happened to you?”

Castiel stood in the doorway, his mind already doing the math.

“It’s nothing,” Sam said, attempting to smile but grimacing at the discomfort is caused him. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Camille said incredulously. “Sam that’s ridiculous. _What happened?_ ”

Sam didn’t answer, opting instead to look up at Castiel, who had still not come any further in to the office. Castiel was looking down at him, his stare icy and a million miles away. Sam gave a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Cas,” he said quietly. “He came out of nowhere, I tried to fight him but I was caught off guard.”

“What did he say to you?” Cas bit out behind clenched teeth, ignoring the confused looks Camille was giving the two. “Sam, what did he say?”

“Just that he was waiting for you. By the bleachers. That’s all he said, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Castiel hissed. “Don’t you dare apologize, Sam. This is not your fault.” He looked behind him and noticed that the crowd in the hall was thinning out. “Does Dean know?”

“Not yet, I don’t think.” Camille took the ice pack Sam was nursing when he pulled it away from his face. “And it sucks too, Dean’s going to fly off the handle for sure and get kicked out. Dad said if Dean got kicked out one more time he was going to send him off to military school, and I don’t doubt Dad’s threats.” Sam shook his head, exasperated. “I thought I could handle him. I did. But he had two other guys there, they held me down.”

“Dean’s not going anywhere,” Castiel said suddenly, walking over to the chairs and dropping his bag in one right by Sam. The furious look on Castiel’s face gave Sam pause; he had never seen Castiel anywhere near this upset. “When he gets here, tell him it’s taken care of.”

“Cas, what are you thinking? You can’t go—”

“Camille, stay with Sam, and when Dean gets here keep him busy.”

Camille handed Sam back his ice pack. “I hardly think that trigger happy oaf is going to listen to anything I have to say, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out there.”

“Just do it!” Castiel said more firmly this time, and Camille did not respond this time. He was livid. Beyond livid.

He left without another word, his belongings still sitting beside Sam as the younger Winchester nursed his eye. Camille watched him go with an unreadable mood clouding around her.

The blood was pumping so hard in Castiel’s ears that he didn’t hear the bell ring for the start of lunch. He pounded down the hallway and threw open the door leading out to the football field, swept up in his own hurricane of blind rage.

 

***

 

When Dean left the lunch line and turned to join Castiel and Camille at their now usual spot, he was surprised to find the table empty and deserted. He briefly glanced around the lunchroom, wondering if they had simply found another spot, but the two were nowhere to be found.

He was pulling out his phone to check for any missed messages when there was a hand grabbing on to his arm. Startled slightly, he flinched and whirled around to find Anne, wide eyed and on the brink of what looked like crying, looking up at him.

“Did you hear?” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

“Hear what?”

“About Sam!”

Dean did a double take. “Wait, what about Sam?” he grounded out, not liking the terrified expression in Anne’s eyes.

“Dean—Dean he’s hurt.”

Dean’s brain short circuited at the last word. All his mind seemed to comprehend was ‘Sam’ and ‘hurt’.

“What do you mean _hurt_?” he demanded, taking a step forward. “What happened?”

Anne quickly fished her phone from her pocket, rapidly pressing buttons until she turned the screen to him. It was a text message—from someone named “Grace”:

_U kno Dean’s kid brother? Just saw him taken 2 the office. Sum1 beat him up bad._

Dean’s grip tightened on the phone, and he ripped it from Anne’s hand quickly to re-read the message, hoping he had somehow read it wrong.

Sam. Hurt. Sam _beaten up._

Dean was suddenly seeing _red._

Before Anne could say anything else, Dean was pushing her phone and his forgotten tray in to her hands before tearing out of the cafeteria like a bat out of Hell. He ignored a hall monitor screaming after him to slow down and even forcibly pushed another student out of his way when he rounded the corner and saw the sign for the main office.

He skidded to a halt in the door way, and what he saw made his blood boil.

Sam was sitting in a chair, his head tilted back as he applied an ice pack over a now very swollen eye. Camille stood next to him, her arms crossed and face blank.

“Sammy?”

Sam’s head snapped up and he looked more horrified at Dean’s presence than relieved. “Dean,” he began, standing up to meet his brother. “Dean, I’m okay.”

“You don’t look like you’re fucking okay. What the hell happened? Who did this to you?” He demanded, his voice icy cold. He ignored the receptionist when she glared at him warned him about his language.

“Dean, it’s nothing. I’m fine, and I’d like to just forget about it.”

“I’m not gonna ask again. _Who did this to you_?” Sam looked away from his older brother then, his gaze dropping right to the floor.

Dean’s lips formed a tight, straight line. “It was Wachowski, wasn’t it?” When Sam didn’t answer, Dean grabbed his brother’s shoulders firmly. “It _was_ that fucker? Oh, I swear to God I’m going to rip his fucking throat out,” he hissed, resisting the overwhelming urge to punch a hole in the wall next to him. Camille stood away from the two figures, watching silently.

Dean clenched his fists and it took every last inch of his self-control to keep from strangling the next person he might come in contact with. Finally he spat, “Where is he?”

Sam shook his head violently. “No, Dean. I’m not going to let you get expelled over this; it’s probably what he wants. And I’m already scared he’s gonna take Cas down with him, I don’t want you to also—”

“ _Cas?_ ” Dean stared at Sam incredulously. “What about Cas?”

Sam grimaced, wanting to kick himself at how he’d already said too much. “Cas went to go find him; he didn’t want you to get involved. Connor did this to get to him.” He rubbed his arm across his nose, sniffling audibly. “We need to tell someone. I think Cas is going to get seriously hurt.”

“Where is he?”

“Dean—”

“Where is Cas, Sammy? Where is he?” Dean began to raise his voice, his emotions were strung out and about to snap—the thought of Sam being ambushed by Connor and his buddies and now Cas about to have the same happen to him—he was past the point of rage. “Sammy, tell me where he is. Right _now_.”

Sam held his ground, shaking his head firmly once. “We need to tell a teacher. Anyone. Please, Dean.”

“Cas is going to get beaten to a fucking pulp, Sam. Or worse!” His hands snaked up to tangle in his own hair, distraught. “You saw what Wachowski did to him last time, Sam. Fuck, just look at what he did to you!”

Sam sunk back in to this seat, holding his eye tenderly. He opened his mouth, as if about to say something, but closed it again just as quickly.

Feeling utterly defeated, Dean fell upon his last resort. He trained his eyes instead on Camille, who was still standing farther away from them, eerily quiet. When she felt his eyes on her, she glanced up, her brows furrowed and her mouth forming a hard frown.

Dean hunched over, pleading silently with the girl as he felt the precious seconds tick by, every second that Castiel was with Connor, having God knows what done to him. “Please,” was all me managed to choke out.

Camille stared at her feet for a long minute, her features hardening even more for a split second before she relaxed, her arms coming down to her sides as she gave what sounded like a defeated sigh.

“Bleachers, by the field,” she said simply, her voice quiet but the word still reaching Dean’s ears. Sam’s head snapped up to gape at her.

Camille ignored the look and her gaze leveled with Dean’s; and her voice was dripping with venom when the last words she uttered were, “Run fast.”

Dean gave her a look of pure gratitude, lasting only as long as it took to turn on his heels, fleeing the office as fast as his feet would carry him, drowning out Sam’s cries after him.

When he burst through the exit doors and out in to the blinding early afternoon sun, he was chanting _Cas_ over and over like a mantra in his head,hoping to whatever God Castiel still believed in that he wasn’t too late.

 

***

 

At last the bleachers were in Castiel’s sights, and he was able to make out three figures standing beneath them; tall, hulking silhouettes blacked out by the sun behind them. He knew he should back down, knew he should not go looking for trouble, but the thought of Connor having his lackeys hold Sam Winchester down while he beat him only served to make Castiel more livid.

Connor was the first to notice him, a cigarette hanging between his fingers and his hand obviously toying with something in his coat pocket. As he gained on them, Castiel was able to recognize the other two teenagers. One was Tad Cooper, a sophomore who must have been held back _at least_ three years to be the size that he was, and he had the brain to prove it. The other was another senior whom Castiel did not know the name of, but had seen following in Connor’s footsteps ever since his freshman year.

Connor nudged his buddies, nodding in Castiel’s direction with a wicked smile on his lips.

“Knew you’d come, Cassie! How’s little Sammy Winchester doin’, huh?” Connor called, the other teens with him laughing in unison with him. He took one last long drag of his cigarette and then threw it on the ground, squashing it under his heavy foot.

Castiel did not answer, but instead increased his pace, something Connor was obviously not expecting by how he stood stock still when Castiel nearly collided with him and landed a well aimed punch directly to his nose. There was a commotion and suddenly Castiel found two pairs of hands pulling him back and grappling him, keeping him in place as Connor lifted his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, Cassie,” he laughed, wincing with a toothy grin at what might as well have been a broken nose. “You are so in for it.”

“You win, Connor,” Castiel bit back, out of breath from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “You got what you wanted. I’m here. Now why don’t we all man up and finish this for good?”

“Where’s your boyfriend? Thought he would never let something happen to his little princess.”

“Dean is not coming because he has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me. It always has been.” Castiel struggled slightly, testing the strength of the brutes towering over him.

“Well, at least that little brat could deliver my message, I almost gave up on you showing.”

The hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck stood up, anger spreading like electricity through him. “Sam Winchester is my friend _._ And I don’t like people hurting my friends.”

Connor stared at him incredulously for a moment, a smile dancing on his lips before he tossed his head back and let out a roar of laughter. “Oh, God Cassie. You little whore! You’re head over heels for those two fucking Winchesters. Why don’t you go home and have one big gay fucking threesome? Would you like that, Cassie? The two Winchester brothers fucking you?” Castiel jerked away from his captors but did not budge far. He tried to lunge at Connor with his feet but was dragged back before he could reach.

“Yeah, I bet you’d like it,” Connor rasped, pulling out whatever was in his pocket from earlier. Castiel caught a glimpse of metal. “You’d take it like the little faggot you are, Cassie, and you would _beg_ for it.”

Castiel responded by spitting at Connor’s feet.

Connor reeled back, disgusted, and whipped the object he was holding in front of him. Castiel could finally identify the flash of metal as a switchblade. Connor then lunged for him, grabbing a fist full of Castiel’s hair and yanking the junior’s head violently back.

“I am tired of your shit, Castiel,” Connor hissed, low and coarse. “You’re a fucking disease. You corrupt wherever you go. You’re abnormal; you make people do things, _think_ things.” He emphasized the last sentence by flicking open the switchblade, the sharp edge making a hiss in the air as it flew open, and Connor pressed it right up against Castiel’s throat.

Castiel swallowed hard, but he kept his face stoic even as he felt the blade press hot against his skin.

Connor stared in fascination at the blade, and he slowly trailed it down Castiel’s throat, stopping at his Adam’s apple.

“We’re gonna play a game, Cassie,” the older teen breathed, pure excitement evident in his voice and his blown pupils. “You want to?”

Castiel did not respond, but he did hear a laugh from behind him.

The knife trailed down slightly further, Connor pointing the knife harshly in to the middle of Castiel’s chest. “I’m gonna see just how many times I can carve _faggot_ in to your pretty skin until you’re screaming. Then everyone is gonna know exactly what you are.”

Despite the threat, despite the fear that Castiel was most definitely feeling at that moment, he still managed one last retort. “I’d like to see you try.”

Connor quickly brought the blade up to Castiel’s face, trailing the sharp edge over his cheek roughly, breaking the first few layers of skin. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel noticed for the first time strange symbols marked one side of the blade. He didn’t have time to examine them further when Connor commanded, “Keep him quiet,” and suddenly a sweaty palm was slapped over his mouth. He attempted to dislodge it, jerking his head this way and that, but it was firmly in place.

He felt his shirt tugged up roughly. “Hold him still,” Connor said huskily he placed the tip of the blade against Castiel’s skin, just below his ribcage.

“I wanted to like you, Cas, I really did,” Connor said, as casually as if he was talking about the weather. The pressure of the blade increased, and it was suddenly cutting in to his skin. Castiel tipped his head back, screwing his eyes shut as he felt the blade drag and slice down his stomach. He didn’t cry out. “But then—well—then you had to go and ruin it. You forced yourself on me,” the older teen whispered, almost gentle, as there was more pressure. Castiel opened his eyes again, glaring at Connor intensely and never breaking eye contact. “Made the whole school think I was sick fag like you. You know how that felt?” He pushed in a little deeper, making Castiel squirm slightly. Castiel was breathing hard through his nose, trying above all else to keep his composure.

Castiel managed to force his gaze down, watching as the blade went deeper still as Connor cut, and noticed the first symbol on the blade sink in to his skin. Instantly Castiel felt like he was set on fire and was burning alive from the inside; a scream ripped right from his mouth and muffled by the hand covering it. He jerked back violently, head thrown back in excruciating pain. His mind was fogged; baffled by what was happening to him and why he felt like every cell in his body was having a nuclear metldown.

It apparently alarmed Connor as well, who was not expecting such a reaction. He yanked the knife away in surprise, and Castiel immediately fell limp in the two teens’ grasps, panting and breaking out in a sweat.

“What the—” Connor began, his face slack with shock. Castiel managed to open his eyes at the sound and follow Connor’s gaze to his stomach. Castiel’s eyes widened in alarm.

He watched with growing horror as the skin on his stomach, sliced open by the blade, slowly began stitching itself back together, leaving no trace of what had been there before on his flesh.

Connor looked like a wild animal that had been startled, his eyes darting from the knife in his hands to Cas and back again. “You—you fucking freak! What the fuck is _wrong_ with you!” he screeched, his hands trembling as he took a step back.

Castiel continued to stare as the last incision closed in on itself and only smooth skin was left in its wake. Castiel balked, and he could feel the two teenagers holding him doing the same.

That was when he felt the first blow connect with his right cheekbone and he gasped in surprise. Then Connor swung again, harder, and Castiel could feel something crack. But the blows stopped as quickly as they had started, and the junior could still feel the bones and broken skin sliding right back in to place.

“Holy shit,” Tad whispered above him, his grip loosening a fraction. Castiel stiffened, anticipating.

“ _Cas!_ ”

The three teens snapped their head towards the school, where they could just make out a flash of leather and a figure sprinting down the hill towards the bleachers. Castiel heard his name, his cloudy mind processing it slowly when he lethargically lifted his head to watch as Dean Winchester bounded towards them at full speed.

“ _Dean_ , was all his mind managed before he felt both grips on his arms loosen.

It was the perfect opening, and Castiel took it for all it was worth. He yanked down on his right arm, the one in Tad’s slack grip, and pulled free with relative ease, immediately hooking his elbow behind him and right in to the teen’s face. Tad fell backwards in to the metal of the bleachers, crying out in surprise.

Castiel’s heart was racing, confusion and terror still pulsing through him, but the adrenaline was controlling his actions and decisions, and the only thing on his mind was _Dean_.

He vaguely felt fists gripping him by his shirt and pushing him backwards, but they were immediately yanked away, and he could hear a cry from the unnamed teen that had been holding him as Dean collided with the boy and dragged him to the ground.

Castiel sensed more than saw the blade coming right at him, and he ducked out of the way just in time, knocking Connor off balance. He skidded to the ground, the blade flying out of his hand. Then Tad’s arm was around his throat, but a nicely aimed elbow to the groin and the oversized figure was falling away. Castiel turned and shoved him away so violently that Tad’s skull snapped back and slammed against the metal of the bleachers with a loud crack, and he slumped to the hard ground immediately, unconscious.

The third teen wriggled his way from under where Dean had him pinned, his eyes wide in terror as he noticed Tad on the ground. Dean made a grab for him, but the boy managed to evade the grip easily. Before Dean could stop him he was taking off down the field, fleeing the school, not having signed up for that kind of ambush.

Castiel watched as Dean got to his feet in one swift motion, a burning anger apparent in him that even Castiel had to take a step back from. Dean was silent, but his shoulders were squared and his fists clenched so tight they were shaking. He made his way towards Castiel, who wondered for a split second if Dean was coming after _him_ , before Dean brushed his way past, his eyes locked on Connor.

“You sorry son of a bitch,” he spat as he reached down and grabbed Connor by his collar, yanking him to his feet with ease. “You are going to be in such a world of hurt, you little fucker.” Castiel slumped against a supporting beam on the bleachers, panting hard and lacking the energy to intervene. Dean balled his hand in to a fist and pulled back, landing a punch to Connor’s jaw that elicited a sickening crack. Castiel winced. “You think you can mess with my baby brother? I will fucking _end_ you,” Dean said, and the way he said it so nonchalantly sent a shiver down Castiel’s spine and he watched on. Connor’s head lolled back at the impact. Another blow landing over his eye had him crying out and going limp in Dean’s grasp. He pulled his fist back once more, ready to land another blow.

“Dean,” Castiel said, quiet but firm. Dean’s hand stilled, but he did not look up at Cas, his murderous gaze still fixed on Connor’s swelling face. “Dean, it’s over.”

“Not until I say it is,” Dean growled, his fist still hovering over Connor. “This fucker deserves everything he’s got comin’ to him, Cas.”

Castiel pushed off of the beam, slowly making his way over to the enraged teen. He placed his hand in the crook of Dean’s elbow on the arm holding Connor up. Dean’s eyes were wild. “Dean.”

Dean seemed to argue with himself in his head for a long moment, Connor whimpering in his grasp beneath him. Eventually he exhaled deeply, his fist unraveling and he dropped Connor to the dirt as if throwing away a piece of trash. Some of the feral look in his eyes faded at Castiel’s touch; he was beginning to resemble Dean Winchester once more, not a caged animal.

But then he was rounding on Castiel, anger dripping in his tone, but a genuine speck of fear audible as well. “And just what the hell were you thinking, Cas, coming out here by yourself? How stupid could you fucking be!”

Castiel did not waver. “You would have done the same, Dean. For Sam.”

“But Sam is my brother! You had no reason to be a hero, Cas!”

The juniors eyes darted to the ground. “You don’t understand.”

Dean threw his arms up in the air in exasperation. “Don’t understand what?”

“You and Sam,” Castiel said simply, wiping an arm across his face now dirty face. “You are the first friends I’ve had in a long time. Maybe even… Maybe even the first good ones. I would do anything for Sam, because he’s my friend. That’s what friends do for each other.” Castiel waited for Dean to react. “I would have done the same for you, Dean.”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat. He turned away from Castiel and ran a hand through his hair anxiously. The statement rang in his ears.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” he mumbled, but the venom in his voice had completely dissipated.

“Dean,” Castiel brushed his hand against his stomach through his shirt, remembering where there used to be deep gashes cut in to him, but now was just smooth, unblemished skin. “I need to talk to you.”

Dean stepped over Connor’s body, brushing past Castiel again as if he was about to walk back up to the school. He brought his fist up to his mouth, then turned back to face Castiel. “No, Cas. It’s my turn right now. You did a stupid fucking thing. You could have ended up seriously hurt, or—or—fucking worse. And how do you think Sammy would feel if something happened to you? He already feels guilty enough that you went off to confront this grade A douchebag alone,” Dean said, disappointment clear as day in his tone as he gestured to Connor vaguely.

Castiel did not respond; his hand fell away from his body.

“And...And what about—what about—” _Me._ Dean swallowed hard; his voice was hoarse.“What about everyone else, Cas?”

“What about them?”

“Your parents?”

Cas shook his head, laughing bitterly. “They are the least of my worries right now.” He turned to look down at the two unconscious boys on the ground and raised his eyebrows at Dean. “I’m more concerned about what to do with _them_.”

 “Well, I for one would love to ring their fucking necks,” Dean answered, his sour mood beginning to soften. “Just leave them there. I think their pride has been thoroughly beaten out of them today. I doubt they’ll show their pathetic faces for a while.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Castiel looked back at Dean, who was already climbing the hill back up to the school. “Where are you going?”

Dean stopped to turn to him.  “Home. Just gonna go get Sammy. And you’re coming too.”

“What about school?”

The senior shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but recent events have definitely put me in the mood for some Die Hard right about now, so you comin’ or what?” he said, giving Castiel a lopsided grin.

"I'm starting to think we're never going to see that movie," Castiel deadpanned. Dean wasn't sure if Castiel was being completely serious or trying to make a joke in a sense of humor that really only made sense to the junior, but Dean couldn't help but toss his head back and a snort of laughter escaped him anyways.

But then something behind Castiel grabbed Dean’s attention, his face falling dramatically and the smile gone in an instant. His eyes were blown wide open as he took a step forward and a strangled “Cas!” erupted from his throat.

Castiel only had time to whirl around and catch Connor’s swollen, wild eyes level with his and a flash of silver metal, and then he was watching as Connor plunged the open switchblade straight in to his chest, right over his heart.

The metal seared in to his skin, and Castiel emitted a startled cry as it burned inside him and blood immediately began pooling on to his shirt.

Connor reeled back, as if snapping out of a trance. He appeared terrified, completely in horror at what he had just committed. He watched as Castiel slumped hard on to his knees, took a timid step back, and then turned right on his heel and began running in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could possible carry him, off in to the woods of behind the school.

Dean was by Castiel’s side in a heartbeat.

“ _Cas!_ ” he cried as he skidded to the ground right beside him and caught him when he fell backwards. His eyes roamed over his chest, halting right over the blade “Cas, no,” he breathed. “No, no, _no_.”

Castiel’s head rolled back on to Dean’s arm, his eyes unfocused as pain danced over every single nerve in his body. The knife seemed to literally shut him down; words were muffled and his vision blurry, all of his attention focused on the blade that was burning him alive. His breathing began to go ragged and his body jerked involuntarily.

“No God, please,” The older teen rasped in disbelief at the sight before him, his hands hovering over Castiel’s body as if he had no idea where to touch or what to do. Finally he opted to push his hand to Castiel’s chest, covering the wound around the blade, staunching the blood flow as best he could as he gripped the back of Castiel’s neck. “Cas, you gotta—you gotta stay with me, man,” he managed to say in a low, broken voice as he pulled himself to his feet, dragging Castiel’s limp body with him. “You have to—you’re gonna be okay, Cas. You’re gonna be okay, promise. I’m going to get you out of here, you hear me? I’m gonna get you to—to a hospital.”

Castiel’s eyes rolled up in to the back of his head, feeling his mind starting to go cloud up and darken, and he reached for the blade in his chest; but a hard smack to his jaw made his eyes flutter open again and pulled him back.

“Come on, Cas, stay with me. _Stay with me!_ ”

He vaguely registered his arm being thrown over Dean’s shoulder as he was dragged up the hill, his feet catching on stones and uneven patches of dirt as he attempted to ground himself to no avail. He groaned as the flames inside him seemed to now turn to ice, his body going cold and limp. If he could—if he could just—

A door flew open and Castiel was being lowered in to the front seat of the Impala, Dean somehow dragging Castiel all the way to the parking lot, a trail of dripping blood left in their wake. The blood had soaked nearly the entire front of Castiel’s shirt now, and it only continued to seep out faster when Dean removed his hand and raced to the driver’s side, wrenching his door open violently.

The Impala roared to life, ready and willing, and Dean was tearing out of the parking lot with a loud screech, leaving behind nothing but smoke and burnt rubber.

Castiel slumped to his side, panting heavily as he felt his fingers slowly start to go numb. He coughed, his mouth filling with the heavy taste of copper; he choked on the liquid and a few drops were spattered on to the dashboard. Dean pushed harder on the gas pedal, blazing past the speed limit in a matter of seconds.

“Cas, you’re gonna be okay, just hold on. _Please._ ” He took a sharp left, running a red light with little thought, leaving honking horns and cars’ screeching breaks behind him. He wracked his brains as he tried to remember where the nearest hospital was. He looked over to see the mess on the dashboard and clenched his teeth. “I’m not gonna let you die, Cas. Do you hear me? You better not—” he choked back a sob. “You better not fucking die on me you bastard!”

He flipped his phone open, fumbling over the buttons as he mashed three keys, his eyes darting from the road to Cas and back to the road again.

Castiel could feel that he was dying, having lost too much blood much too fast. Dark circles danced in his vision and his breaths were growing shallower with each gasp for air, and the strange part was that it felt oddly familiar—and that strange almost-memory in his head told him to yank the knife right out of his burning chest. He lifted his hand up, burning every last drop of strength he had left in him and fumbled for the handle of the blade, his bloody fingers slipping on it twice. The weapon sent another shock through him and he groaned in pain.

Finally he got a better hold of it. If he could just pull the infernal thing out of him… If he was going to die, he was not going to do it drowning in a sea of agony.

So he began to pull.

The 911 operator had just answered the call, asking for the emergency, when Dean glanced over at Castiel and immediately dropped the phone to the floor of the car, grabbing for Castiel with his free hand.

“Cas, stop it! Cas, no!” He quickly forced himself to look back at the road, swerving just in time to avoid going in to oncoming traffic. “Don’t pull it out!”

But Castiel was already pulling with all of his might, the blade slowly releasing its grip, the friction tearing at him even more. It seared his flesh as it went, and Castiel grit his teeth in pain, shrieking in agony as it became too overwhelming for him; he barely heard Dean shouting his name in the back ground.

And then it was out, the Hellish thing pulled free from his chest at last. It might have been the shock that was wrecking his body, but Castiel was positive that when the knife was gone he felt no more pain. He went limp at once, the blade falling from his hand to the floor with a muted thud; the color had all but drained from his face. The pain finally subsided, Castiel tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Dean scrambled to pull over to the side of the road, slamming on the breaks as hard as he could. He fumbled for the phone he had dropped, thanking his lucky stars that the operator was still on the other line. He jammed the gear stick in to park and held the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pressed both hands firmly over Castiel’s wound.

“I need an ambulance,” he said, finding his voice at last as his words fell out of his mouth rapidly. Castiel’s eyes began to close again. “I’m on—God what road am I on—”

He jerked his head around, searching for a sign, for _anything_. “My friend, he’s b-been stabbed, he needs—he needs—”

Dean’s voice faltered when he turned back to the junior slouched limply in the passenger seat. There was no blood pumping from the wound on to Dean’s hands; Castiel was completely still, his chest no longer moving in shallow breaths. His eyes had fallen shut.

Dean let the phone slip out of his grip again, his hands shaking as he leaned forward; his breath ghosted over Castiel’s lips, watching for any sign of life coming from the now pale teen.

“Cas?” The whisper escaped him as a broken sound, echoing through the car along with the soft rumble of the Impala’s idle engine.

Castiel did not stir.

“ _Cas._ ” Dean said his name more firmly in a desperate panic as he placed his palm on Castiel’s face, his other hand searching frantically for a heartbeat or any sign of life. Dean slid his hand up and over Castiel’s clammy forehead, pushing back a mess of black hair matted with sweat.

Dean gripped the younger teen’s shirt, his knuckles white with the force of it. “Castiel,” he ground out through clenched teeth, blinking away stinging moisture gathering in his eyes. “Castiel, you listen to me, you bastard. You are not allowed to die, you hear me?” He shook Castiel roughly, ignoring how Castiel’s head lolled limply to the side when his body was shifted. Dean leaned in, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. It was a gesture he had wanted so badly to do back in Adam’s room, but at the last second he’d dropped his head to Castiel’s shoulder instead, afraid of the consequences of such a rash action.

And he hated himself for it.

Suddenly Castiel’s body jerked brutally and Dean barely had time and the mind to pull back before Castiel was gasping for air like he’d just surfaced from a long dive in the water, his eyes torn open as he struggled for oxygen. Dean jumped back in his seat in shock, his head colliding with his window with a sharp crack.

“ _Cas,”_ was the first thing he managed to get his mouth to finally form the word for. “Cas, what—” Dean watched as Castiel gaped right back at him, his hand coming up to fumble over his chest where the knife use to be. He palmed at it tentatively, his breathing erratic and seeming to grow more and more alarmed as he began rubbing over it. A choked noise escaped from him.

As his eyes locked on the older teen’s, he slowly pulled down the collar of his shirt, stretching it to reveal his wound—or rather, where the wound _should_ have been, Dean thought. Dean watched in disblief as Castiel moved his hand, revealing a chest that was slathered in blood, but otherwise completely unblemished.

The car was deathly silent for what might as well have been an eternity, the air thick with the stench of blood and sweat as Dean stared at Castiel’s chest with a wide, unblinking gaze. Castiel let go of his shirt, his stare now planted firmly at the dashboard.

“It… it happened before,” he whispered incredulously, like he couldn’t believe his own words. Dean could barely hear it even in the silence. “With Connor. I—I don’t know.”

Dean shook his head. “You—your—how—”

“ _I don’t know._ ”

The next thing Castiel knew, Dean was grappling for his door handle, half stumbling half falling out of the driver’s seat and vomiting on the pavement below him. Castiel winced at the sound.

It went on for nearly ten minutes, Castiel all the while slumped in the seat, his hand over his chest and trying to breathe normally once more.

Eventually he found the strength to extricate himself from the car, the bile rising in his throat as he saw the mess or now drying blood he’d left in the passenger seat and on the dashboard.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered quietly as he slowly stumbled around the front of the car. He was about to reach for the senior, who was still on his hands and knees retching violently, before he thought better of it. Dean looked like a caged animal that was easily startled in to violence. “Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Dean gasped for air. “How are you even _alive?_ _How,_ Cas?”

“Dean, come over here. You’ll get hit by a car.”

Finally the older teen leaned back on his knees, wiping his mouth with one hand. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, hoarse from the vomiting.

“What?”

“It doesn’t even matter. You know why that is, Cas?”

He glanced at Castiel, something like distrust in his stare. Castiel cautiously shook his head.

“’Cause I know what this is, Cas. This whole thing, it’s just a dream. Just a fucking dream.”

Castiel wished it was; he _desperately_ wished this was a dream—that the last few weeks were one long dream and that the Winchesters had never entered his life; had never made his life start to make no sense.

Confused, Castiel’s brows furrowed. “Dean, this isn’t a dream. Why would you think it was?”

“Of course it is, Cas!” he said, giving a laugh that was on the verge of hysterical. “I mean, look at you. Look at this—this whole situation!” He got to his feet. “It’s the same as last time. You show up in my dream, shit gets weird. First by the lake, now here—”

“ _Lake?_ ” Castiel interrupted, his heart jumping at the word. “A dream by a lake?”

“Yeah, I was—” He paused, watching at the growing panic in Castiel’s face.

Dean’s face suddenly grew dark.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he suddenly said, pointing an accusing finger at Castiel. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say. Don’t you dare say you had—”

“That I had the same dream?” Castiel was stunned. “Dean, I had the same dream. You were in it. I swear on my life.”

Dean shook his head, stomping away in the opposite direction.

“I did! Dean—listen to me!”

“You’re lying. This isn’t real. _You_ aren’t real.”

Castiel followed as Dean avoided him, walking farther down in to the bank by the road. Castiel suddenly was hit with a memory, and he stood still.

“You were fishing!”

Dean stopped, frozen on the spot as he listened.

“You were fishing,” Castiel said again; he did not approach Dean, afraid to startle him further. “You were… you were older.”

Dean slowly turned to face him. “How did you know that?”

“Because I was _there_ ,” Castiel nearly cried, the memory of the entire dream washing right back over him like a tidal wave. “I tried to tell you something, but my voice—I couldn’t speak. It was like some kind of wall! And then you said my name. You called me _Cas_.”

The older teen continued to stare, trying to see some sort of lie in Castiel’s words, or waiting for Sam to jump out of the trees and call it all an elaborate prank. Something. Anything.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Dean,” Castiel said finally, throwing down his arms in exhaustion and looking utterly drained. “I don’t know what’s happening. But whatever it is, it has something to with _you_ , and it has something to with _me_.”

Dean’s stood rooted to his spot as his fists clenched and unclenched. He processed Castiel’s words. Images were firing off rapidly in his mind—of Adam and his sickness, of the fleeting feeling of a much deeper recognition when he looks at Castiel, of a lake and a blue tie and stubble on a familiar chin—

Somewhere in the car, Dean’s phone was suddenly ringing loudly, making both teens jump.

Dean ignored it, the awkward silence filled by the tune of muffled rock music. He watched as Castiel glanced down at his hands covered in dried blood as though he was just seeing them for the first time. The ringing stopped.

Tentatively, Dean took a step forward. “Cas—”       

“What am I, Dean?” he whispered, his head snapping back up to stare at Dean pleadingly, like someone else may have the answer.

Dean opened his mouth, about to say something— _You’re Cas. Just Cas._ —when his phone began to ring once more.

“That’s probably Sammy,” Dean said cautiously. “He’s worried.”

Castiel nodded, as if giving permission, and slowly hunched over towards the ground, his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his fists. Dean watched him for a minute, just watching as Castiel’s fingers fisted his own hair in frustration and fatigue.

Finally he broke away, walking back to the Impala and reaching in on the passenger side, careful to avoid the blood on the seat. He grabbed his phone and snapped it open, the name ‘SAMMY’ appearing on the screen.

He pulled out of the car and clicked the green button, observing Castiel’s back rise and fall with each long breath he took.

“Sam.”

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam’s voice was a low whisper, his tone laced with obvious panic. _“Dean, where are you?”_

Dean still could not locate a street sign. “I’m with Cas,” he opted to say instead. “We’re alright.”

_“You didn’t do it, right? Please tell me you didn’t do it!”_

His eyes narrowed. “What? Do what?”

_“They think you and Cas did it! I told them I didn’t know where you were but it’s only a matter of time that they check my phone. If they see I warned you—”_

“Sam; Sam slow down.” Castiel was now looking at Dean from his position on the ground, the alarm in his eyes growing with every word Dean spoke. “Sam, what are you talking about? Are you alright? What do they think Cas and I did?”

_“…You don’t know?”_

“Know _what_?”

There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line and then Sam’s voice was even quieter. _“Dean,”_ he hissed, _“the police are looking for you. For you and Cas both. They think you did it.”_ Another pause. _“Dean, they found him by the creek in the woods right behind the school. Someone slit his throat!”_

Dean had to lean against the Impala for support, the breath knocked out of him as he gave Castiel an apprehensive stare.

_“He’s dead, Dean. Connor’s dead!”_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god... Guys. I am officially naming this chapter The Chapter of Rewrites. Every single section of this chapter endured some sort of rewrite at some point in time. Every. Single. One. I had gotten a couple messages asking when I'd update with a new chapter and I kept saying "this weekend, swear it!" and well--I wasn't lying I suppose. The chapter WAS technically done but as soon as I went to post it I just kept thinking about how I was unsatisfied with parts of it. I was saying what I wanted to say, but not telling it how I wanted it to be told. Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback and comments you guys have given me, they kept me going. Every time some one takes the time to leave me their thoughts I get really giddy and happy. So thank you guys, really!
> 
> Also, huge thank you to my super great slave--I mean friend, Ashley, who helped me with a lot of said rewrites and guided me in the right direction when I needed it. She helped me make the chapter much better and I hope that it is worth the wait (also it's super long?! D: ). *crosses fingers* 
> 
> Please enjoy!

“Dead? What do you mean Connor’s _dead_?”

Dean flashed a frantic look over to Castiel, who stared right back at him, mouthing _‘Connor?’_ and rising back up to his feet. He rubbed his hands roughly against his jeans, scraping off a layer of dried blood.

 _“What part of ‘no longer alive’ is escaping you right now?”_ Sam quipped from the other end of the line. _“Dean, look, there are police everywhere, and when the school realized you and Cas were missing, they came looking for me. They questioned me about what happened and I had no other choice, Dean, I had to tell them what happened and that you went after Connor—I didn't know what else to do—”_

“Sam, calm the fuck down—”

_“—And now mom and dad are here! Fuck, Dean, they’re going to talk to the police! The whole fucking school is out in the hallway and they’re on lockdown and—”_

Dean jerked the phone away from his ear and jammed his thumb in to one of the buttons as hard as he could, listening as a very loud and very _shrill_ beep erupted from his end of the line, effectively quieting his younger brother. After a few seconds, he finally pulled his thumb off and pressed the phone back to his ear.

“You listening now?” he growled.

Sam’s voice was quiet when he replied. _“Yes.”_

“You tell the police that neither of us have anything to hide and we didn’t fucking do it,” Dean said, adding an exasperated sigh at the end. “And just… fuck, listen, I have to get Cas to a hospital. I can’t deal with this right now.”

_“The hospital? Is Cas hurt?”_

Dean eyed Castiel cautiously. “It’s complicated.”

_“…Define complicated.”_

“Listen, Sammy, just tell the police to meet us there—”

Suddenly the phone was being wrenched out of Dean’s hand violently, and before Dean could even register its loss Castiel was chucking the device in to the bushes off the side of the road.

“The hell’s the matter with you!” Dean rounded on Castiel, puffing himself up and not missing how utterly pissed the younger teen looked. Dean shoved past him hard towards the bushes where the phone lay hidden somewhere amongst them.

“I’m not going to the hospital,” Castiel called after him, his voice low and stone cold.

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Cas,” Dean said as he pawed around some bushes, “but there’s something very wrong with you. And you know where people go when something is wrong with them? Hospitals.”

“I’m fine.”

“ _Also_ ,” Dean continued, ignoring him, “I’ve learned from past experience that when the police are on your ass, especially for something that you didn’t even do, it’s usually best to _not_ run from them. And while you know and I know that we didn’t put that low life, sorry son of a bitch out of his misery, we don’t exactly have an air tight alibi here. What we _do_ have is a bloody knife and the kid last witnessed with that asshole without so much as a scratch on him, covered in blood and on the run like a bat out of hell. Do I need to tell you how that’s gonna look?”

Castiel closed his mouth, refraining from saying the string of curse words obviously on his tongue. He only watched as Dean cursed and dug through the bushes some more.

After a few silent but tense moments, Dean paused in his actions, sighing and straightening up to look at Castiel.

“Look,” he said, his voice softer and hands up in resignation. “I’m sorry. When I said there was something wrong with you, I didn’t mean—”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s fine. There _is_ something wrong with me. You don’t have to water it down.” He held up his blood smeared hands again, studying them. “Don’t you have any idea what they’d probably try to do to me? I’d be—I’d be some kind of science experiment. I’m—abnormal. I’m…”

“Cas.” Castiel looked up. Dean was watching him, his missing phone forgotten. “Stop. There’s nothing wrong with you, we just have to…figure this out.”

Castiel looked down at his feet. “You say that like you actually believe it.”

Suddenly remembering something, Castiel glanced down at the passenger seat of the Impala, the door still thrown open. He slowly bent over and reached down to the floorboard. Dean watched him as he stood up again, the bloodied switchblade loose in his grasp and held at arm’s length, as if he was still frightened by it.

“Cas?” Dean called, a questioning edge to his voice.

Castiel turned the weapon over in his hands. “I noticed it earlier. When—well it doesn’t matter. There’s something carved on it,” he said simply. His gaze flickered up to meet Dean’s. “Symbols or… something.”

“So? They mean something to you?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. But that’s not everything. You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

Dean managed a snort of laughter. “After everything else that’s happened today? Come on, Cas.”

“I think that they—” Castiel began, but was abruptly cut off at the loud roar of a car speeding towards them, then by them, in a blur. Castiel didn’t glance behind him to see it, but the way Dean’s face paled and his features froze told the younger teen all he needed to know.

He could hear the car begin to slow to a crawl down the road from them, and Castiel finally turned to watch it, panic instantly gripping at his chest when he recognized the sirens on the black and white vehicle.

It was when the car came to a complete halt and began backing up towards them again that Castiel whipped his head around to face Dean once more, his earlier thought forgotten and panic stricken words on the tip his tongue.

But Dean only strode towards him, completely silent and a finger held to his lips and determination thick in his movements. The next thing Castiel knew Dean was ripping the bloody switchblade out of his grasp and after shooting a sharp glance at the slowly advancing car he threw the blade in to the bushes. The movement was quick and precise, but Castiel knew that the officer must have seen _something_. Then the older teen was shrugging off his jacket and pushing it around Castiel’s shoulders, forcing his arms through the sleeves and pulling it as closed as it would go, effectively covering the blood smeared across his shirt. He reached around Castiel and slammed the passenger door of the car closed, scowling at the driver’s side door still wide open.

“Act natural and don’t say a word.”

Castiel nodded. What else could he do?

The police car finally came to a halt, and out climbed an officer somewhere between his fifties and a mid-life crisis with a thick white moustache and one hand grasping his belt. The way he sauntered towards the pair with his shoulders back and his nose turned upwards already made Castiel’s heart rapidly thud against his rib cage. Castiel put his blood smeared hands behind his back.

“Evening, boys,” he drawled, and Castiel felt Dean step closer to him, almost defensively.

“Officer,” he said in return, his even voice betrayed the slight shiver that ran over his body. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The cop threw a sharp glare at him and Castiel wanted to kick Dean right in the shins; but if he had to think about it, maybe _this_ was Dean’s way of ‘acting natural’. Castiel shot a nervous glance towards the bushes, only to look back at the cop and mentally curse himself when he saw the man was watching him.

“So what are you two boys doing on the side of the road? Car broke down?” He eyed Castiel up and down. “Lovers’ spat?”

Dean snorted. “We in some kind of trouble?”

“That depends.” The officer trained his gaze directly at Castiel. “Are you?”

And right then Castiel knew the game was up. His eyes darted over to Dean in a quiet panic, and Dean held his gaze steadfast, his eyes silently pleading for Castiel to keep it together. Then his stare fluttered above Dean’s head in the direction of the bushes once more before he could stop himself. It was only a split second glance, but Castiel knew he had just blown everything. His voice cracked when he looked back to the officer and stammered, “N-no. No. Officer.”

The officer clicked his tongue in thought. “What’s in the bushes, kid?” he barked and it made Castiel flinch.

 “The what?” he asked, realizing the nervousness in his own voice.

“The bushes,” the officer said again, firmly. “That’s the second time I’ve caught you staring over there. You’re sweating like a whore in church, boy. Now I’m not gonna ask again.” A steady hand was hovering right over the gun in his belt.

The teen’s jaw tensed; he opened his mouth to speak but was silenced when a hand fell on his shoulder harshly, and Castiel’s entire body tensed.

“My phone!” Dean interrupted. There was a minute squeeze on Castiel’s shoulder, a reassurance, before Dean’s hand fell away. “Accidentally lost it somewhere in there.”

“Yeah? How _‘accidentally’_ are we talking here?”

“Ah well, you know how it is. Lover’s spats and all,” Dean chuckled, a too-cocky grin spreading across his face as he gestured vaguely to Castiel. “Things were said, tempers were lost. My fault for not deleting those steamy texts from that cute waitress the other night, right baby?” Dean slung an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and ruffled his hair. The icy glare Castiel gave him in return made even his fake smile falter.

“That’s some mouth you got on you, boy,” the officer snapped, his hand still floating above his glock.

Dean shrugged. “Hey, it’s true. Scout’s honor.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I took a look around in there myself?”

Castiel could feel Dean body next to him tighten apprehensively for a brief second before relaxing again. “Be my guest, officer. You’d actually be helping me out here. Just keep it away from this guy.” He brought his index finger up to the side of his head in a twirling motion.

The officer seemed to regard them for a minute, staring them up and down; then he was reaching for the radio on his chest. “Dispatch, I got an eleven-fifty four here,” he said, his eyes never leaving the two teenagers. “Gonna need a plate check on a vehicle; black, sixty-eight Chevrolet Impala.”

“Sixty-seven,” Dean hissed under his breath, garnering a heavy glare from the officer.

“Plate number is king alpha, zebra, two yellow five. Copy?”

“Copy that, stand by,” a scratchy female voice responded from the buzzing radio, and then the three were surrounded by silence.

The officer glanced over to at the driver’s side of the Impala, noticing the vomit pooled on the side of the road. “You been drinking, kid?” the officer asked, nodding in the direction of the puddle of sick. Dean opened his mouth to say something to stop the man, but the officer didn’t wait for an answer; he pulled up his belt and began wandering over to the driver’s side door.

Castiel was watching him go, a panic that hadn’t quite sunk in sweeping through his body in one cold shiver, when he was being violently grabbed by the elbows and swung around. He met Dean’s hard, alarmed stare, their faces inches apart.

“Listen to me,” Dean whispered, his tone harsh and ragged with obvious unease. “Don’t say a word, not a fucking word, got it? You didn’t do anything wrong, they can’t pin anything on you. You ask for a lawyer or a parent and you don’t say _anything_.”

“Dean, what—”

“No time. Are you with me or not here?” Dean’s hands came to rest on either side of Castiel, at the junctures between his neck and his shoulders and he squeezed in what he hoped felt like a soothing, grounding gesture. “Don’t crack on me, Cas. You’re gonna be fine, I promise. You trust me?”

Castiel could only nod frantically. He started to say something, Dean’s name about to pass on his lips before he was interrupted and cut off by a startled low gasp and a shout of _“Jesus Christ!”_

The officer was backing away from the car, his eyes trained on the passenger seat covered in red, and his hand already grabbing his gun from the belt slung around his waist. Dean only had time to push Castiel away from him with a curse before the gun was being aimed right at him.

“Hands behind your head, on your knees, _now_!”

Dean closed his eyes, resignation washing over him, and slowly sunk to his knees, his hands lacing together behind his skull. Castiel, hesitating and unsure, followed. As soon as Castiel revealed his bloodied hands, the officer’s gun switched its aim to him.

“Face down on the ground!” The two teens complied. “Dispatch, what’s the ETA on those plates, I’ve got something happening here.”

The radio buzzed and the female voice returned. “Plates are registered to a Dean Winchester. He’s the one with the warrant out for his arrest for that ten-seventy-two out at the high school.”

The officer grinned in a startling maniacal fashion. “That must make you Castiel then,” he sneered, his gun gesturing slightly at the younger teen. “Dispatch, I’ve got both suspects here, need backup.”

“Copy. What’s your location?”

“One mile south of Wabash and Colton, ETA?”

“Two minutes. Officers dispatched.”

“Copy.” The officer took a few steps forward until he was hovering right over the two teenagers. Dean turned to face Castiel, giving him a reassuring nod before he was being nudged roughly in the shoulder.

“You two boys are in serious trouble,” the officer said, smirking at Dean’s wince. “You cut that poor kid up pretty good, didn’t ya?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Dean snarled.

“Yeah, and I’m Santa Claus.”

“Hey man, I don’t need to know about your kinks.” That earned Dean kick and Castiel gave the officer a defiant glare. A long, silent and tense moment followed, the gun looming over them and the officer’s watchful eye bearing in to the backs of their skulls. As soon as Castiel heard wailing sirens hurtling towards them, he flipped his head over to look at Dean.

He whispered the older teen’s name, the officer deaf to the word over the quickly approaching police cars.

“It’s okay Cas, I’m here.”

“What do I do?” If circumstances were different, Castiel would have been embarrassed at the panic in voice. “What am I supposed to say?”

“Nothing. You’re gonna be alright, Cas. I promised you, didn’t I? I’m gonna get you out of this.”

Castiel shook his head as the cars came to a screeching halt somewhere close down the road, and doors were being thrown open; gun were being drawn. Castiel lowered his eyes to the pavement. Wide, green eyes tried to follow him, hold his gaze, but Castiel refused to meet them. “I’m sorry I ever drew you in to this mess. Sam too.”

“Hey,” Dean called, his voice insisting. Castiel turned to face him again, the road scratching his cheek. “We’re gonna figure this out. All of it. I’m not gonna hang you out to dry.” Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get the words to pass his throat, Dean gave him a sharp wink and whispered, “Besides, I kinda like you, yeah?”

Dean turned away from Castiel then, missing the way Castiel’s eyes went wide, instead glancing up at the officer. “Hey, Santa Claus!”

The officer looked down at him as the backup officers approached, their guns lowering at the sight of the subdued teens.

“When are we gonna get this show on the road? I got places to be,” Dean called up to him.

“You’d shut your mouth if you knew what was good for you, boy.”

“Oh you know how I get all tingly when you talk dirty to me.”

Suddenly Dean was being hauled to his feet by his shoulder and he grunted as he was thrown over the hood of the car hard, his hands being yanked behind his back with more force than necessary.

Castiel let out a noise that was something between a growl and a shout, and then hands were lifting him to his feet too. He felt the cool metal around his wrists as a tall female officer pulled him by the shoulder towards another car and began searching his pockets. “He has nothing to do with this.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could register them. “It was me, it was all me.”

“Cas, shut the hell up,” Dean hissed from the hood of the car, the officer’s hand pushing his face in to the hot surface and holding him there. “Remember what I said!”

The officer finished searching Dean’s pockets, pulling out his wallet and keys. He pointed at another officer standing by. “You take Clyde in your car, I’ve got Bonnie over here. Meet up back at the station.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Wait, why do I gotta be Bonnie?”

“A pretty face like you, who else would you be?” the officer deadpanned as he pulled Dean up off the hood and began walking him to the back seat of his cruiser.

“Oh Santa.” Dean flashed him his best shit-eating grin just as the officer was pushing on his head, lowering Dean in to the seat. “You are so going on my naughty list.”

The officer slammed the door shut.

Castiel was being pushed in to another car when he saw the first officer pull away, Dean sitting calmly in the back seat. He leaned back, trying to find his breath again. It was as he was watching the officer who cuffed him return to the driver’s side and climb in that he realized he was still wearing Dean’s jacket; which was now completely open and showing off the aftermath of the day’s events with pride. He leaned his cheek against the leather, feeling the scratch of the worn material graze his skin. He closed his eyes in thought as the screaming sirens came to life and the car pulled away, leaving the lonely black Impala abandoned on the side of the road.

 

***

 

Dean had his head face down on the table, his arms cradling his head as he closed his eyes and thought. Just _thought_. Thought about how to proceed, how to possibly get out of this mess he’d found himself in. It was definitely a bigger mess than any he’d faced before. He’d done a lot of bad shit in his life, but being caught up in a murder was a whole new level of stupid. Plus there was that tiny little thing with Castiel fucking _healing_ himself like it wasn’t any big deal.

Dean opened his eyes. Castiel. Cas.

_Besides, I kinda like you, yeah?_

“Idiot,” Dean groand. He glanced up at the ceiling, his eyes squinting at the flickering fluorescent light hanging over him that just _had_ to be like that on purpose. It was too cliché to not be intentional.

 _Like he feels the same way,_ his mind kept whispering to him over and over.

“I don’t care, I don’t even like him. Not like that.”

_Sure, whatever makes you feel better._

Dean shook his head and rested his chin in his palm. “He’s a guy.”

_Spectacular observation there, Winchester. Seriously, A plus. You don’t remember that ‘thing’ with the kid in middle school? Tyler? On the basketball team?_

“Jesus, shut up.”

_You shut up._

 “Great, now I’m talking to myself. At least if this takes a turn for the worse I can make an insanity plea.”

There was a click at the door. Dean sat up, squaring his shoulders and relaxing back in to what he hoped looked like the normal macho front he put up.

A tall, thin woman in a pencil skirt, thick rimmed glasses, and a taught bun walked in carrying a briefcase, a police officer following close behind. She surveyed the room, completely ignoring Dean sitting at the metal table, and then turned to the officer and waved him away.

“We need to be alone,” she said curtly. The officer looked as though he wanted to protest, but thought better of it and left while muttering something about calling if he was needed and _“no funny business, Winchester”._

Dean glanced over the woman, noting the way she set her glasses low on the bridge of her nose and finally spared him a glance that if Dean was not mistaken—and he rarely ever was when it came to these sorts of things—seemed nervous and hesitant. Easy.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Dean cooed, his voice unwavering and raspy. “And what’s your name?”

The woman fixed her glasses again. “I’m Detective Hagen. I’m the lead investigator in the case concerning Connor Wachowski’s death.”

“Ah,” Dean sighed. “Sadly I can’t take credit for that. Wish I could.”

Detective Hagen sat in the chair opposite of Dean. “You know, Dean, I believe you.”

Dean looked up at her. “Really?” he replied in a tone that suggested he knew she was full of shit.

“Yes. That’s the reason I had them take the cuffs off of you. I don’t think you’re nearly as dangerous as the rest of my department does, despite how much you puff yourself up.”

The teenager snorted.

“I’m serious, Dean. I don’t believe you killed Connor. I know you had some problems with him. We know about what he did to your brother. We talked to Sam.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “So what you’re basically saying is that you know he had what was coming to him.”

“You must understand what this looks like, Dean? My hands are tied. The prosecutor wants to charge you; he thinks you had plenty of motive. And with your record they’re not willing to give you the benefit of the doubt like I am. Now, I have some good news and some bad news for you.”

The detective pulled out her briefcase and set it on the table. Dean watched her open it and crossed his arms when she pulled something out.

“Good news is we found this for you, turns out you weren’t lying about it.” He watched as she tossed his phone, looking worse for wear but still in working condition, on to the table. It was in a plastic bag labeled ‘evidence’ and a few scrambled numbers.

Dean looked back up at her expectantly.

“Bad news is we also found this.” She pulled out another bag, setting it right next to the phone. It was the knife, bloody and still open with all the little symbols carved in to it. Dean stared at it hard.

“Now, we tested it and it came back with your prints, Connor’s, and your friend’s on it. Care to tell me how that happened?”

“His name is Castiel,” Dean grunted as he placed his hands back on the table and leaned forward. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I already told the police officer who grilled me that Wachowski was the one who had the knife to begin with. Not me, not Cas.”

“Well unfortunately Connor is dead from a pretty serious knife wound, so it really doesn’t matter who had it first, and both of you seem to be suspiciously uninjured—and Castiel had quite a lot of blood on him when we took it for evidence. I’m willing to bet that when the blood tests come back in we’re going to find Connor’s blood all over that knife and in your car.”

Dean tossed his head back and let out a loud, boisterous laugh. “Oh lady, you are in for a real treat, then.”

“And what do you mean by that, Dean?”

Dean just smirked at her and shrugged.

“Dean—”

“I want to talk to Cas,” the teen interrupted, hating the way his name rolled off her tongue.

“Why do you need to see him?”

“I want to know he’s alright.”

“Dean, Castiel is fine, but he’s in a lot of trouble. I’m much more worried about you right now.” Suddenly the woman’s hand was worming its way on top of his, warm and soft, and Dean found himself too surprised to look away. She tilted her head down and looked at Dean over the rims of her glasses. Dean was weirdly reminded of his mother.

“Dean, I want to help you as much as I can. I don’t want to see you throw your life away over something like this.” Dean’s hand twitched.  “Just tell us what Castiel did, and I’ll try and get the accomplice charges dropped for you. I can probably get you just probation.”

The teen pulled his hand out from under hers abruptly, as if he’d been burned by the mere touch of her warm skin. He leaned back farther in his seat and slung an arm over the back of his chair. “Yeah, I’ll tell you something, lady. How about you go fuck yourself? I’m done talking. Either take me to Cas or lock me up.”

Detective Hagen’s lips formed a thin line; she remained silent as she studied Dean’s solid and unflinching expression, looking for some sort of crack in the mask. Eventually she nodded and rose from her seat. “I understand,” she murmured, and began putting the bags back in the briefcase. “Just so you know, we have enough evidence to hold you overnight. That can change quite easily if you decide you have something else to say.”

With that, the detective was gone, and Dean was left alone again in the damp, flickering room.

 

***

 

Castiel was only vaguely aware of the fact that both of his hands were cuffed to one arm of the chair until he had an itch on his shoulder that was dying to be scratched. In all honesty he had blocked out most of his surroundings since he had arrived. Once at the police station he had been shoved in to a room where they took his clothes ( _“For evidence, now take the jacket off.”_ ) and took pictures of his hands ( _“Forensic evidence.”_ ) and after being read some rights that he didn’t quite get when the officer read it way too fast to understand, but nodding that he acknowledged the rights all the same, he was unceremoniously hauled in to a dimly lit cinder block room with a lone fluorescent light and a single metal table with two chairs. There was no double sided glass, just a camera in the far corner that he tried his best to ignore. He was in the middle of solving the itching dilemma absentmindedly when he heard the door open with a whine.

Castiel tilted his head up to see a young woman flash a badge to a police officer and watched warily as said officer nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving just Castiel and her in the room. She introduced herself quickly (“ _Detective Hagen.”_ ) and sat down at the seat across with him and placed a briefcase on the table.

 _Don’t talk. They can’t make you talk._ Castiel repeated those words to himself like a personal mantra, holding the woman’s stare even when it became unnerving.

Eventually the woman cleared her throat and looked away. “We know that you used to be friends, Castiel. Connor’s mother told us.” Well that was quite the way to start.

Castiel remained silent.

“Think about what his family must be going through right now, Castiel. Don’t you think they need closure?” When the detective still received no response, she had leaned forward and placed her hands, folded together, neatly on the table. “Connor did not deserve to die, no matter what his transgressions might have been. I know somewhere deep down that you must believe that.”

Castiel looked down at his hands. It gave the detective the answer she was looking for and she hummed in approval.

“It’s interesting,” she said after a couple silent minutes. Castiel glanced back up at her in question. “Your friend doesn’t seem to feel the same way. He seemed quite glad that Connor was dead.”

Castiel stared at her, wondering if she was being deliberately oblivious—it was what caused him to break his silence. “That likely has something to do with what he did to Dean’s brother. Dean and Sam Winchester are in this situation because of me and I intend to remedy that.”

“Oh, I’m fully aware that Dean had little to do with this, but he seems reluctant to tell me what I need to know in order to let him go free. I know you don’t want your friend to be charged for something he did not do—so help me help him. I’m afraid that at this point you can’t help yourself, but you can at least save Dean.”

 _Save Dean._ Castiel noted the intimate use of his first name. Castiel may not have been in trouble with the law before, but he wasn’t stupid and he could see the attempt to appeal to Castiel’s feelings from a mile away.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Castiel replied, slow and cautious of his words. “I can only tell you the truth—I did not kill Connor. Dean had nothing to do with it except that he helped me when—” Castiel cut himself off, suddenly aware of how clammy his palms had become.

“See, that’s the part that we’re missing here.” Detective Hagen brought forward her chin and rested it on the back of her propped up hand. “Sam Winchester told police that Connor and two friends, whom we have in custody and can corroborate this story, got in to a physical altercation with him sometime in the late morning. Afterwards, Sam told us that you went off in search of Connor—and from there we could put together the pieces that you went with what seemed like the intention of revenge, and Dean followed you shortly thereafter. What we’re missing, you see, is the in between. What happened between finding him and the police officer finding _you_ bloody on the side of the road?”

Castiel instinctively balled his fists. “It’s…difficult to explain.”

“We have time, Castiel,” she replied with a tone of finality. “Why did you and Dean leave the school? Did you follow Connor in to the woods?”

“Where are my parents?” Castiel asked numbly, ignoring the question. “I can’t talk until they are present. I’m pretty sure those are the rules.”

Detective Hagen’s lips quirked in a small smile and Castiel was unnerved. She opened her hands in a placating gesture. “We’re just talking, Castiel.”

Castiel shook his head.

“What happened?” she pressed. "There were no defensive wounds on you at all—I want to believe you but you’re making it difficult.” There was a long pause. “Why did you go after him, Castiel? I know you two had a less than ideal past with each other, but it seems strange that you would pursue him after an altercation over an altercation that did not involve you.”

“Sam Winchester is my friend. He did it to instigate confrontation because he I have—had history. I consider that involving me.”

“And Dean?”

“Dean is also my… friend.” Castiel said, wondering at his own pause, which the detective had definitely caught and had raised her eyebrow even higher at.

Detective Hagen leaned close again, and her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Would you like Dean to be more than a friend?”

The teen actually _flinched_ when she said it, backing away from her as if frightened. His widened eyes didn’t make him look any less terrified—or innocent for that matter. “I’m sorry?”

The woman clicked open her briefcase and pulled a heavy, folded article of clothing that Castiel instantly recognized. The jacket, _Dean’s_ jacket, looking far less bloody than his earlier wardrobe, was placed on the table directly in front of Castiel.

“The tags have Dean’s initials on them. You were wearing it.” She nudged the jacket forward an inch. “I have two ideas as to the reason, and both involve you confessing something.”

Castiel closed his eyes, wondering if he did it long enough if the detective and the jacket would just vanish in to thin air at his will. What was he going to say? _Oh, Dean just gave it to me to hide the blood._ That would go well.

“Come on, Castiel,” she said, watching him open his eyes and eye the jacket like if he stared at it hard enough he could set it on fire by thought alone. “Bonnie doesn’t need to go down with Clyde. Not again.”

Castiel really wished people would stop making stupid references he didn’t understand.

“I found Sam in the office.” Castiel knew he wasn’t supposed to be talking, but finding the will or the care to shut up proved difficult. All he could think was that if he could get Dean off this hook, he could deal with the consequences. Detective Hagen wanted the truth, and the truth she was going to get, even if it was more than she had really bargained for. “I asked Sam what had happened, but by that point I’d already worked it out for myself. Connor hadn’t been subtle about his threats.”

The teen glanced up at the detective to see her regarding him with an inquisitive eye. He absently thought that she should have been writing this down, but she seemed to not care. He glanced up at the camera, saw a small light flashing red, and understood.

“Connor had told me where to meet him—the bleachers. So I told Camille to stay with Sam and left.”

“Who is Camille?”

Castiel paused. “A friend. She’s not involved.” The detective nodded and Castiel took it as his cue to continue. He took a deep breath and pulled on his handcuffs a little, wondering why he even needed the stupid things; why the detective didn’t offer to take them off. Castiel was sure that he didn’t look particularly dangerous. “I confronted Connor and the other two. I hit him—I was very angry. Sam did nothing to warrant that kind of attack other than being my friend. After that I was pinned by the other two and Connor pulled out the knife.”

Detective Hagen reached in to the briefcase and pulled out a bag, this one with the bloodied knife enclosed. “This one?”

Castiel nodded. “He had the knife first. Connor threatened me with it and then, while I was held down, he…” Castiel closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. “He cut me. Here.” He gestured to his stomach.

“Castiel,” the detective interrupted sternly. “There are no cuts anywhere on your body.”

“I know.”

The detective seemed to regard him for a moment and then nodded solemnly for Castiel to continue.

“Dean found us then, and he pulled one of Connor’s friends off of me, and I took care of the other. Once they were both incapacitated, Dean turned on Connor, but after some convincing he backed down. I thought Connor was unconscious, and so I turned my back on him.” The itch was back again, and Castiel had a hard time not being horribly distracted from it. He swallowed thickly. “It was too late when Dean warned me. I turned back to find Connor on his feet, knife in hand.”

“And then what happened?”

Castiel shrugged, not knowing how else to put this. “He stabbed me.” Castiel pointed to his chest as best he could in the cuffs, right over his heart.

The detective stared at him for a long moment, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest as though she was looking for some kind of hole in Castiel’s story, or for some reason why she shouldn’t believe him.

“Connor ran after that. That was the last I saw of him, I swear. We left—Dean dragged me to his car with what I’m guessing was the intent to take me to a hospital.”

“We know; we have the recording of the 911 call.”

Castiel’s eyes fell on the jacket again. “We didn’t make it that far. The blood in the car is mine. And on the knife, too. I’m sure your tests will comes back and say the same.”

The detective drummed her fingers together. “That’s quite the story, Castiel.”

The shrug made it off of his shoulders before he could stop it. In the back of his mind he could see the gesture repeated on Dean—and Castiel realized he never used to shrug like that. “Whether or not you believe me doesn’t really change what happened.”

Detective Hagen leaned forward. “You know, I want to help you, Castiel. But how can you expect me to when you won’t tell me the truth?”

“That is the truth. All of it.”

“So you just…what? Were stabbed right through the heart and just healed yourself miraculously?” She raised her eyebrows high in question.

Castiel nodded.

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“No, I don’t really expect anything from you, detective,” he replied dryly.

Immediately the detective stood, her mouth closed tightly and her stare icy. She grabbed the bag with the bloody knife and placed it back in her briefcase before shutting it closed with a click. She left the jacket.

“I’ve tried to be nice, tried to help you, Castiel,” she said, quiet and stern, as she pulled the briefcase off the table and adjusted her glasses. “And instead you throw the offers back in my face and also attempt to insult my intelligence with your story.”

“I didn’t—”

“I’m going to let you sit here by yourself,” she interrupted and picked at the hem of her shirt. “When you’re ready to be honest with me, we can talk again.”

Her heels clicked as she crossed the room and knocked twice on the door; the door opened and the guard waiting outside let her through.

Castiel silently watched her go.

 

***

 

“I don’t get it.”

Detective Hagen paused with her dollar coffee poised at her lips and reluctantly pulled her eyes from the TV screen in front of her. She glanced over at the hefty man sitting in the chair besides her, his fingers resting against his temple in thought. “Get what?” she asked.

“What this kid’s angle is.”

She sighed. “Morty, you think everyone has an angle. He’s just a kid. Look at him, he’s like a skittish dog in there.” She gestured to the TV screen where a grainy black and white scene was buzzing there, with a timestamp in the bottom right hand corner. “I think he’s just scared.”

“So what’s with the tall tales then?” the man grumbled. He took a sip of his own coffee and watched as the fuzzy image of Castiel sitting quietly at the table remained silent and still. “Does he think that we’re just not going to find out what really happened? What’s the point in making things up after we’ve already got him cornered? Do you think he’s insane?”

“Please,” Detective Hagen scoffed. “He’s a seventeen year old kid who seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The kid he killed didn’t exactly have a clean record.”

The other detective groaned. “If you so much as even breathe the words ‘self defense’ our prosecutor is gonna have my ass. Don’t give the kid any ideas.”

Detective Hagen was laughing as they heard a small knock on the door. A short man with shaggy hair and round, black rimmed glasses poked his head inside.

“Detectives, I have those results you wanted from the lab,” he said in a quiet, nervous voice.

Both detectives began to rise, but Detective Hagen held out her hand to the other man. “You stay and watch him. Try and find that ‘angle’ of yours. I’ll go.” The man nodded his assent and she left, closing the door behind her.

“Tell me you have some good news,” she said quickly, smoothing back her hair.

“Well…” The man fumbled over himself as he pulled the file he was carrying up and opened it. “I have some weird news, and some even weirder news.”

The detective tilted her head. “Okay, give me the not as weird news first, I guess.”

“Okay, so we tested the blood in the car and on the knife. They were, uh, matched to each other.”

“Which we had guessed.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing. They do _not_ match to Connor Wachowski.”

Detective Hagen froze. “Come again?”

“The blood found in Dean Winchester’s car and on the knife is _not_ Connor’s.”

The detective’s brow knitted together, unbelieving. “Then whose is it? Carl, there was enough blood in that car to drain a guy; who else’s could it be?” she replied, her eyes narrowed.

“You have him sitting in your interrogation room.”

The detective snatched the paper away from the man, her eyes flying over the words as she read. The word ‘MATCH’ was written in large, red letters at the bottom of the page. “You’re telling me that all that blood in that car and on that knife is this kid’s? That blood couldn’t have been more than an hour old when we found it!”

The man threw his hands up in defense. “I don’t know what to tell you. The blood is his.”

“So what exactly is the _weirder_ news?”

Shifting nervously on his feet, the man lowered his voice. “Well, we ran the kid’s prints, just in case he had a record, right?”

“Yes, that’s standard procedure,” she replied slowly, nodding him along.

“Well, we didn’t find a record, but we did find something else.”

“What?” Detective Hagen barked, impatient.

He handed her a folder. “You’re not going to believe this.”

 

 

***

            Despite the detective’s threats, Dean was not booked for an overnight extended stay in one of the jail’s luxury suites. They must have found him to be innocent in one way or another, or at least innocent enough that they weren’t legally allowed to hold him, but Dean didn’t question it. Something about gift horses and looking at it in a specific way—he couldn’t really remember the analogy.

He was asked to sign a statement stating he had been read his rights. When he asked to see his parents a bored officer stared at him and drawled on about how he was eighteen and did not have the right to see them. Eventually he just shrugged, maybe taking pity on the teen, and said they were waiting for him to be released.

A plump, jovial woman—too jovial to be working at a jail Dean thought— who kept calling him “sugar” and mentioned something about him needing to eat more handed him back his belongings as he changed back in to his clothes. He asked about his jacket, but she told him since it was found on Castiel’s person it was being kept as evidence for the time being.

“He’s not getting released?” Dean asked.

The woman gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry sugar, wish I could tell you but that’s as much as I know. They don’t tell me much of anything ‘round here. Now let’s go, you’re mama’s out there waiting for you and she looks sick with worry.”

Dean followed the woman to a door that buzzed loudly as it was opened and Dean was walked through. When he rounded a corner he found himself facing a window-lit lobby where people from all walks of life seemed to be waiting for other loved ones.

When he spotted Sam, his heart sunk in to his stomach. The entire side of Sam’s face was purple and blue, he had four or five stiches above one brow, and he had a hospital bracelet still latched around one arm. If Connor wasn’t dead already, Dean would have happily done the deed.

Sam’s face lit up when he saw his brother all the same. His mother was behind him, gripping his shoulders tight with relief at seeing her son—in handcuffs, sure, but still her son—round the corner. When she laid eyes on him she put her hand up to her mouth and looked like she was trying to hold back a sob at the poor sight he must have been: bruises on his nose, one eye bruising, a split lip and bruised knuckles. Beside her stood John, stoic, and that scared Dean the most. He would rather have his father screaming at him than face his cold, silent disappointment. Adam was half-hidden behind John, his stare listless.

The woman removed the cuffs, whispered a “ _be good, sugar_ ” to him, before he was nudged towards his family.

He got halfway before his brother was striding towards him and wrapping his lanky arms around him in a tight embrace. The force of his brother colliding with him was enough to knock the wind out of Dean, but he didn’t care as he returned the gesture. Dean was reminded of a time when Sammy barely came up to his chest, and really his brother was just getting too tall. It was going to give him a complex.

There was a muffled whisper that sounded to Dean like _“I’m sorry”_ and Dean was mumbling, “Shut up, Samantha. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Then Mary was there, throwing her arms around him as well and sniffing back a few tears; her eyes red and puffy.

“I’m sorry, mom,” he murmured in to her hair as he rested his chin on her shoulder and placed his hands at her back. “I’m sorry. To you and dad.”

Mary shook her head. “We’re going to figure this out, honey. It’s going to be okay.”

Dean tensed. He had told Castiel the same thing—that everything was fine and they were going to figure this whole thing out. _Besides, I kinda like you, yeah?_

John cleared his throat. “Time to go,” he said gruffly, leading Adam out the door by the shoulder before Dean could get a good look at him in the eye.

Sam walked by Dean’s side out in to the gated parking lot where the sun nearly blinded Dean—his eyes already accustomed to the artificial light of the cell he was placed in for holding.

“Don’t worry about dad,” Sam told him in a hushed whisper, eying John to make sure he didn’t hear. “Don’t get me wrong, he was pissed—livid really. But mom mellowed him out a lot. I mean, you are innocent and everything, he’s just still pissed about the fight in general.” Dean nodded and Sam’s voice dropped even lower. “What happened to Cas?”

Dean shoved his hands in to his pockets. “I don’t know. We were separated when they arrested us and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Are you worried about him?”

Dean bowed his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Do you think they have anything on him?”

“I don’t know, Sammy.” Dean kicked at a piece of gravel on the ground. “I was there when it happened. I saw everything—Cas is innocent.” He looked up at his brother. “You okay?”

Sam waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine, everyone’s making a huge fuss and it’s really no big deal. Besides, I think it looks kinda cool. I hope I get a scar,” he said, pointing to the stitched cut above his eyebrow. “Do girls like scars?”

Dean chuckled despite the sinking feeling in his stomach and looked up at his brother, ruffling his hair affectionately and slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Yeah, chicks totally dig a guy with battle scars.”

He spared one last long glance at the building where Castiel was no doubt still held—alone and probably equal parts confused and petrified. There was nothing he could do right then, but he would do his best to get Castiel out; prove he was innocent.

He’d promised, after all.

 

***

Castiel didn’t look up when he heard the door click open, but his body tensed, ready.

He expected some sort of greeting, anything—but instead he jumped slightly when a file folder was slammed down on to the table in front of him. He looked back up expectantly at Detective Hagen, whose expression was blank save for a small pang of unease building in her stare.

“Got those blood tests back, Castiel,” she said as she crossed her arms and sank down in to the chair. When she said his name, it was in something akin to a hiss. Castiel didn’t respond, just continued to watch her and wait for her to continue. “You weren’t lying, it’s yours alright. Now how in God’s name is that even possible?”

Castiel’s jaw clenched but he continued to remain silent.

“Turns out you’re full of mysteries today, Castiel. We ran your prints, too.” Her eyes squinted, as though gauging Castiel’s reaction, whose features remained passive. “Something interesting came up.”

If she was waiting for a response from Castiel, he didn’t give one. The cold room seemed to stand still as the two figures stared each other down for a long minute before Detective Hagen had had enough. She unfolded her arms and nudged the closed file closer to Castiel before speaking up in an unwavering, firm tone,

“Castiel, who is Jimmy Novak?”

Something made Castiel’s hand twitch, and he looked at the betraying limb with confusion. He didn’t meet the detectives eyes when he managed to whisper, “Who?”

“Jimmy Novak, Castiel,” she continued, her voice more stern. “Who is he and why do you have his fingerprints?”

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath and his heart started pounding harder and harder in his chest—and he wasn’t sure why. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The detective leaned forward and flipped the file open with force. The teen looked down at first, avoiding the file for reasons he couldn’t place, but Detective Hagen spoke even louder. “Jimmy Novak, from Pontiac, Illinois,” she recited to him. “Devoted husband and father, and a good, devout man. He went missing over a year ago and hasn’t been heard from since. _Look_ , Castiel!”

 He isn’t sure what made him do it, but Castiel found himself complying and finally landing his gaze on the small stack of papers sitting on the desk before him. What he found there stunned him in to silence.

Jimmy was… him. He was staring straight back at a picture of himself, or at least someone who looked like the spitting image of him if he were, say, fifteen or so years older. The man was smiling in a way that seemed horrifically foreign to Castiel—he knew his own face and mannerisms enough to know that this was not his smile. But the man looked _so much like him_.

“Is this some kind of…of joke?” Castiel rasped from his seat as he backed away from the folder on the table as if it might suddenly grow legs and teeth and bite him.

“Do I look like I’m in a joking mood?” The detective growled in a low, harsh voice, all pretenses of understanding and sympathy that were once there, gone. There was a fire in her stare that, given the chance, would love to burn Castiel alive. “So what are you to him, Castiel? What did you do to Jimmy?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Castiel found himself saying in a near-hysterical voice before he could control it. “I don’t know who Jimmy Novak is.”

“This game is up, over, there’s no reason for you to lie anymore. If you’re honest and truthful, we may be able to extend some leniency, depending on the severity of your crimes—but right now I’m done playing games. So tell me, Castiel, what did you do?”

Castiel pulled on his cuffs in earnest now. “I want to see my parents,” he whispered. “I need to see Dean.”

Detective Hagen’s mouth twitched. “No.”

_“Please.”_

The detective was on her feet immediately, leaning over Castiel. The teen noticed a loose strand of hair had fallen from her bun. “Dean Winchester can’t help you anymore, Castiel. Tell me how you have Jimmy Novak’s fingerprints. Tell me what you did to him. To Connor. _Tell me!_ ”

“Where are my parents?” Castiel whispered brokenly, hating the sound of the uneasiness escaping him and averting his eyes from the detective’s glare. He stared at the black and white picture of a smiling Jimmy Novak; a man who probably didn’t deserve whatever happened to him.

_A devout man._

He screwed his eyes shut and threw the file away from him. “I need to talk to my parents!” he shouted at her, his voice harsher now. Overhead one of the fluorescent bulbs flickered dangerously.

Castiel was flinching before the detective’s hand even connected to the table.

“Dammit, Castiel, you don’t have any parents!”

A file was being thrown his way and it landed open, allowing Castiel to come face to face with a file of him. He stared up at her, slack jawed. “You never had any; they don’t exist! You’ve been staying in that empty house for years pretending that a family lived there. We checked and there is no deed to that property, it was abandoned five years ago after the last occupant passed away without a will—”

“You’re lying,” Castiel interrupted, shaking his head so hard he almost saw stars. “No, I never— My parents are on a trip—”

“We can’t find any of record of you at all. The only thing we can think now is that you started falsifying documents to attend school and appear as a normal high school kid. You don’t have a birth certificate or any health records. For God’s sake, Castiel, _you don’t even have a last name!”_

Castiel’s head snapped up to stare her down, his eyes narrowed. “Of course I do.”

“Then what is it, Castiel? Why can we find absolutely no record of a Castiel existing in this town _ever_?”

“My name is—it’s—” The teen stared down at the file, willing it to tell him, because it’s easy to forget something like that under stress, surely. His name was…it was…

_Castiel._

“My wallet,” he began, eyes darting back up to meet hers. “In my wallet—”

“No I.D. Nothing. No cards. Completely and utterly empty.” The detective pulled her hands back to her sides but made no move to sit down. She watched as Castiel’s eyes played a tennis match between her and the file, hoping one would give him some kind of answer. “We searched your house. The extra bedroom was empty and locked. A car hasn’t been parked in that garage for years.”

Castiel was pulling on his cuffs so hard that they were digging in to his wrists, deep. He frantically tried to think about school. On tests, he would write his name all the time. What did he write?

_Castiel._

No, there had to have been more. The room around him seemed to melt away save for the file pushed in front of him. The mug shot he’d taken earlier stared back at him, but that version of him was just as confused and desperate for answers and offered nothing. Next to his picture was his name—just the one—and all the blanks underneath were filled with _‘unknown’_.

He was going crazy. That was all. There was no way that a person could just exist and _not_ exist. He was panicking, in shock, and who knows what a person can possibly think or be capable of while under that sort of duress, right? And Detective Hagen—she was exploiting that for some kind of confession. He was sure of it.

“I did not kill Connor,” Castiel said fast, too fast, and he found his tongue fumbling over the words. “I don’t know a Jimmy Novak. My name is Castiel—” His jaw tensed. “I am seventeen years old and a junior in high school. My parents—” He swallowed. What about his parents? He remembered them, of course he did.

Except that he _didn’t_. He tried to dig up some kind of memory of them, of what they looked like, but all he could find in the deepest pits of his mind were faceless husks with fake smiles like he’d clipped some pictures out of a catalogue.

“My name is Castiel,” he started again and banged a fist down on the arm of the chair. Suddenly he understood the handcuffs and why the offer to remove them was never made. “I have a family—I’ve lived here all my life. And I didn’t do anything wrong!”

The room fell silent, the tension in the air thick and heavy on the both of them. The bulb in the light overhead flickered precariously and the detective glanced up at it, eyeing it suspiciously.

“I can do this all night,” she said, quiet and sudden. The frankness of it pierced right through Castiel and his stare hardened. “Maybe some time alone will allow you to get your story straight.”

Detective Hagen grabbed the two files off of the table, gathering them in to her arms and giving Castiel a look that the teen couldn’t read. Her hand hovered over Dean’s jacket for a brief second before pulling away, and Castiel noticed her hand was shaking.

“We’ve released Dean Winchester,” she said, matter-of-fact, as she glanced from the piece of clothing to Castiel, noting the way he stared it. The teen let out a deep breath through his nose and then met Detective Hagen’s eyes, silently asking. “He’s not being charged. Not as of right now, anyway.”

Castiel reached out and brushed one of the sleeves with his fingertips, feeling the scratch of the rough, worn leather. “I want to see him. I want to talk to Dean.”

The detective paused. “Why?”

Castiel met her gaze, challenging. He refrained from adding the _Because he’s the only real thing I’m sure of right now,_ but the boy still handcuffed to the chair had a feeling that it went without saying.

For a brief, fleeting second Castiel spotted the tiniest hint of sympathy cross her features; but it was gone as soon as it had come. “Maybe something can be arranged, but you and I have a lot to talk about first.”

Then there was the fading click of heels and she was gone. Castiel slowly and gently pushed the jacket away from him and laid his head down on the table.

He felt like he should probably cry, or scream, or throw something around in frustration—but he found that all he could manage was staring at the wall like it held the answers to every secret of the universe. Or at least he wanted it to.

The flickering light above him gave out and went dark.

 

 

***

 

Thunder rolled softly outside, promising an oncoming storm, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was far too distracted by the electricity dancing at his fingertips as they slid across soft sun-kissed skin. The light sheen of sweat that accumulated over his entire body soaked his Metallica shirt, but that only seemed to make things better.

It was hot; way too fucking hot to be cramped up in the backseat of the Impala when it’s muggy and stormy outside. The thickness of the humid air that was making it increasingly difficult to breathe and turning the interior of his car in to a homemade sauna only seemed to encourage Dean, light a fire inside him that burned impossibly bright, as though it had always been there in him, waiting far too long to be ignited. The radio was softly playing a perfect mix of every one of Dean’s favorite songs, no commercials.

It was perfect.

There was a soft whisper of Dean’s name and he looked up, smiling at the way the skin and muscle underneath his fingertips fluttered at his touch.

“Cas,” he said, his smile growing wider, and long fingers slid behind his ear to card through his hair in soothing strokes. He practically purred at the touch.

Rain began pelting the windows, softly at first, and Dean swore it was striking up a rhythm in tandem with his own heartbeat. The pounding in his chest was growing quicker as the hand in his hair travelled downwards across his throat and to his chest, where it was quickly joined by another. He looked up to see his friend, leaning over and staring down at him with a look of awe, as though he was hanging off of every word Dean might say and every expression that passed over him. Dean took that moment to gently grab on to the wild dark locks of Castiel’s hair and bring their heads together, forehead to forehead, as he was brought to a sorry state of panting and gasping for breath at Castiel’s touch alone. Really, he should have been embarrassed, but he couldn’t find any reason to be, not when Castiel looked equally as wrecked as he must have above him.

Dean’s brought both of his hands up to rest on Castiel’s hips, then traveled them down his thighs to his knees where they were placed on either side of Dean’s legs. He closed his eyes and hummed in approval when he felt hands tugging at his belt.

He popped one eye open to watch as Castiel worked the belt open with surprising determination. “What’s got you in such a hurry today?”

Castiel paused and sat up, staring down at Dean with a questioning look. “Because you’re going to wake up soon.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow up at him.

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed, his hands paused over the open belt at Dean’s hips. “You are aware that this is a dream, right? You’ve been conjuring up the same manifestation of me every night in a row for the last week.”

The older teen groaned loudly and rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ I know it’s a dream, Cas, because otherwise this—” he gestured between the two of them “—wouldn’t be happening!”

Castiel shook his head in response and ran a palm roughly over Dean’s groin. The teen gasped appreciatively in return.

“I tell you every time that if you expressed your feelings to him, you might find that they are mutual. And then you wouldn’t have to have these dreams.”

“I don’t understand why you’ve got to be such a Debbie Downer and ruin the moment,” Dean croaked as he rubbed at Castiel’s knees through his worn jeans; he noticed they were his jeans and he absently wondered if that was becoming a kink of his. “This is the only time I get to have something like this and I want to enjoy it, alright? Without you interrupting it with logic and words.” He brought one hand up to lightly tap his palm against the side of Castiel’s face, who immediately batted at the hand in annoyance. “Save it for the real world. Got it, blue eyes?”

Castiel finally succeeded in chasing Dean’s hand away and looked down at him sternly. “What?”

“Blue eyes,” Dean repeated, his hands coming up to rest behind his own head. “That’s what I’m going to call you from now on.”

“Please don’t,” Castiel replied dryly.

“Hey, it’s my dream and I’ll call you whatever I want,” Dean gave a wiggle of his hips that sent Castiel having to grab on to the seat to keep himself upright. Dean grinned at him. “Now get moving, blue eyes.”

It was Castiel’s turn to roll his eyes then as he shimmied down Dean’s legs and bent over, placing both of his palms on the lower half of Dean’s stomach. The muscle there shivered under his touch and Dean let out a very _manly_ moan that was _not_ girly. At all.

As he stared up at the ceiling of the Impala, Castiel’s perfect, soft and slightly chapped lips trailing feather light kisses over the firm plane of his stomach, he wondered if this is what it would actually be like. He’d long since resigned himself to not ever knowing—he was never going to tell Castiel how he felt. Hell, he wouldn’t even admit to himself how he felt because he would only allow himself to appreciate the way his hands fit perfectly over Castiel’s hipbones or how beautiful his lips looked when parted in pleasure or how much his eyes really shone and his eyes fluttered closed when Dean did _that_ thing with his tongue; and really, Dean quite enjoyed doing _that_ thing. One time, feeling extra curious, he had asked Castiel to do those things instead, to him, and the way Castiel’s long fingers had gripped him by his hips, firm and reassuring... Well. He could dig trying that again.

No, it was only in this _one_ dream, the one with that never too close storm on the horizon and the never ending playlist of Dean’s favorites on the radio and the perfect way his and Castiel’s bodies slotted seamlessly together in the backseat of his car… Dean had long since learned that you don’t risk ruining the things you already had.

And he was perfectly happy with having this one dream all to himself, it was all he needed. Wasn’t it?

“I may only be a figment of your imagination,” Castiel said after a particular kiss that had somehow ended in a long drag of Castiel’s tongue across skin and had Dean grabbing on to the door handle. He was happy he’d locked it. “A cerebral representation of what the real Cas is like in your mind,” he continued, and _oh_ , that nickname always sounded so good rolling off his tongue. Dean needed to get him to say it more often—in real life, too. Castiel popped open the button of his fly and Dean actually _growled_. “But I honestly believe that the real Cas would reciprocate your feelings if you just told him. And if _I_ think this, then some part of your subconscious must think so as well.”

Dean’s hands shot out from behind his head and grabbed behind Castiel’s knees, pulling on them and yanking Castiel’s calves right out from under him as he fell right on his back on to the leather seat. Dean toppled over him, fitting himself between Castiel’s legs perfectly, and pressed a soft kiss to the younger teen’s throat. “Shut up, Cas,” he grumbled playfully as he nipped at Castiel’s jaw. “You’re just as weird in the dream as you are out of it.”

A small smile crept up on Castiel’s face as his eyes trailed over Dean’s hunched form. “It’s your dream, Dean. I’m exactly how you want me to be.”

Dean was still smiling when his lips met Castiel’s, soft and warm and just a _perfect_ fit to Dean’s. He opened his mouth and lightly pulled on Castiel’s lips with his own; Castiel needed no further invitation and parted his lips to allow Dean in, one of his hands resting on the side of Dean’s face and the older teen leaned in to the affectionate touch happily.

Their foreheads pressed together, Dean’s hand found its way underneath Castiel’s—his—shirt and ghosted its way up to his chest and back down again. Castiel’s contented sigh was enough to have him press farther downward, and he loved the soft intake of breath coming from the boy beneath him as he palmed over the growing erection there. Castiel called his name again, but it was drowned out by the thunder closing in overhead.

Hands found the hem of Dean’s own shirt and started pulling it upwards, exposing Dean’s sweat-slicked back to the hot air of the car interior. Castiel pulled a hand behind him and pressed his palm flat against the foggy window, leaving a streaky hand print in its wake. On impulse, and not entirely sure of the reason why, Dean placed his own palm over it.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, louder this time. Dean fumbled with Castiel’s belt mercilessly, murmuring incoherent things into Castiel’s knee as he worked. If he heard Castiel whisper his name that low, deep, husky voice a million more times it would be once too few. Fingernails dug sharply in to the taut muscles of his back. “Time to wake up now.”

“Mmm, five more minutes, Cas,” a barely articulate mumble of a reply came as Dean placed a playful bite on Castiel’s hip bone. “Not morning yet.”

“I know.”

With a startled cry Dean was being flipped over and he tumbled gracelessly in to the floor of the backseat. Castiel settled over him, sliding right in to place along all the awkward angles of Dean’s position and smirking down at him in a way that caused a pleased shiver to run its course all over the older teen. He stared right up in to Castiel’s deep blue eyes, entranced by the way his pupils were blown in lust and he imagined that the real thing could never compare to this, that there was a reason dreams were preferred over real life. Castiel dipped his head low, brushing a light, barely-there kiss to Dean’s temple.

“Still time to get up.”

The older teen tilted his head, squinting at the other boy in confusion and opened his mouth to respond when suddenly the radio cut off abruptly, static overtaking it until the entire car was filled with the scratchy sound. The windows of the Impala were being pounded on by hard, fierce rain now. The storm had never gotten this close to them; the thunder never this loud.

“Cas?” Dean called, questioning, but his voice was drowned out by the continued static.

Castiel glanced over at the radio and then back down at Dean expectantly, a gentle smile on his lips that caused a something close to mischief reach his eyes.

“Dean.”

Dean heard his name being called, but the Castiel above him remained still. Dean glanced over at the radio, eyes wide.

 _“Dean.”_ The voice was louder, more insistent, and coming straight from the speakers of the radio. The static grew louder and there was then a high pitched ringing filling the car. Dean squeezed his eyes shut at the sharp pain in his ear drums and brought his palms tightly down over his ears, grinding his teeth together.

And then, as quickly has it had started, it was gone and everything was quiet and still. Dean took in a deep breath in through his nose.

_“Dean!”_

Dean was half falling half flying out of his bed and his tailbone was cracking against the ground beneath him before he could really register what had even happened. The fall was anything but graceful, and Dean’s ankle made a spectacular show of tangling in his sheets and drawing them down with him on to a pile on the floor.

 _“Holy mother of tap dancing Christ!”_ Dean scrambled to get his footing on the floor but found he only slid backwards comically until he finally gave up and just held out his hands defensively. When no blow or gunshot or whatever the hell else he could think of came, he opened one eye reflexively and then both, steeling himself and finally glancing up at his would-be attacker looming over him in the moonlight.

_“Cas?!”_

Castiel, panting and looking positively terror-stricken, took a cautious step back. “Dean,” he said again, his voice pitched low and rough. He was in a very ill-fitting stark white uniform and standard issue shoes without laces or buckles.

“Who—how are you—what—” was all Dean managed to form together in a sentence as his eyes darted all over Castiel’s body, taking in the sight of him with frantic gestures.

“What’s happening?” Castiel interrupted, taking another step back and hunching in on himself as he gawked around at the room he knew was familiar.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘what’s happening’? You’re the one who appeared out of fucking nowhere in my bedroom at—” Dean craned his neck up to catch a quick look at his clock “—three in the god damn morning!”

Castiel dropped unceremoniously to his knees in front of Dean, leaning forward with a proximity Dean’s wasn’t exactly comfortable with at that moment.

“I don’t know how I got here, Dean. One minute I was in—I was in this cell that the detective put me in—”

“They _booked_ you? Holy Christ, Cas—”

“—And I was… I was thinking that I wanted to be anywhere else but there in that cell. I didn’t deserve to be put there and I was—they told me all of these things that are simply _not true_ , couldn’t be true, Dean.” Castiel’s fingers griped the sheets until his knuckles turned white. “Things about me, my parents—”

“Cas.”

Castiel took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, noticing the vice-like grip he had on the sheets. He exhaled and let them go reluctantly. “I was trying to block it out, where I was. And the only place I could think of that recently made me feel happy was here.” Castiel looked around him and then locked his eyes on to Dean. “This room. I wanted to be here. And then I just… _was._ Dean, not two minutes ago I was sitting in a cell in juvenile detention. And now I’m _here_.”

Dean shook his head, blinking dumbly at Castiel. “How?”

Castiel stared at him wordlessly for a long minute before looking down at his now relaxed hands in fascination. “Because I willed myself to be.”

The older teen mouthed the words back to him in utter confusion before finally stammering out, “Come again?”

Blue eyes snapped up to meet his. “Because I willed myself to be, Dean!”

“Yeah, you keep saying that, but this is still making about as much sense as a screen door on a—”

Firm hands grabbing his shoulders silenced the teen as Castiel shook him once. “I don’t know how and I can’t even begin to figure out why, but I wanted to be here so badly that my body just…just took me there? I can’t—I can’t explain it, but it just feels so strangely _natural_ somehow. Does that make sense?”

Dean gaped at him. “Man, I must be high as a fucking kite.”

“Dean!”

“Oh I’m sorry, forgive me that my hysteria at your _mojo-ing_ in to my room in the middle of the night is not instantly soothed by you telling me it feels ‘natural’.” He emphasized the last word with air quotes that Castiel eyed with what seemed like confusion at the gesture.

“ _Mojo-ing_?”

“Yeah, Cas. Like—you’ve got some serious mojo going on here. Powers. _Weird shit._ ”

There was that damned head tilt. “I don’t—”

Castiel was cut off mid sentence as something beneath him caught his eye, and his gaze slowly travelled down Dean’s body and landed on the forgotten but still impressive tenting in Dean’s boxers.

Dean’s arm instantly shot out to his bed to grab a pillow and shove it straight in to his crotch, his face alternating between interesting shades of purple and scarlet.

“Oh my God will you back up? Christ, Cas, personal space!” he spluttered as he swatted Castiel away with his free hand. Castiel, an obvious tint of pink reaching from ear to ear and down his neck, complied with out meeting Dean’s eyes.

Dean huffed out a breath. “Look, I’m gonna throw some clothes on and you and I are gonna talk, alright?”

Castiel nodded and pulled himself to his feet, taking a few steps back to allow Dean to do the same, hand still firmly pressing a pillow to his groin. He stood there awkwardly as Castiel continued to stare at him with a stern fascination. “Dude,” he finally hissed after an intense staring contest, “turn around!”

The crack of a smile at Castiel’s mouth was quick and easy to miss, but Dean was positive he caught it. “You didn’t seem to mind earlier.” The last word was muffled by the pillow being chucked right at his face.

“You’re one to talk,” he managed to catch Dean grumble out but he did as he was told and did not turn back around until he heard Dean clear his throat as a cue.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asked, nearly missing the bundle of clothes that were being tossed his way.

“Dunno, just out. Clear our heads.” He gestured to the jeans and t-shirt he had thrown Castiel’s way. “Put those on—don’t want you drawing attention to yourself in that getup.” The older teen busied himself putting his sheets back up on his bed, surprised that no one had been jolted awake by the noise of him falling out of it as spectacularly as he did.

He tried to hide his gaze falling appreciatively to the way his jeans hung on Castiel’s hips but knew he was doing a pretty piss poor job. Half heartedly he tried to push the image of the dream Castiel on top of him with his worn jeans and faded t-shirt clinging to his sweat soaked body.

“Dean?”

Dean blinked. “Huh?”

“Are we…going?”

“What—yeah! Uh, yes, yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” Castiel shifted on his feet and Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Well, I was just thinking that maybe… I mean, I could try—”

“Oh no. No no no,” Dean interjected, recognizing instantly where this was going as he gave a firm shake of his head. “I don’t trust this mojo crap of yours. We’re driving.”

 

***

 

It had been a test of patience getting downstairs without being heard. Castiel seemed to float over every obstacle in his path—Adam’s latest science experiment or a forgotten book of Sam’s—while Dean apparently was quite skilled at tripping over every single one of them. After what felt like an eternity they finally reached the closet by the front door, and Dean carefully pocketed the keys to his father’s black truck.

“Is it wise to be stealing your father’s car?”

“Christ, Cas, it’s not _stealing_. I’m simply borrowing; my car is currently property of the god damn police, and who knows what they’re doing to her. Dad’s never gonna know.”

When the truck roared to life and sputtered like it was on its last leg, Dean was positive they had been caught—no one could sleep through that kind of racket. But after five solid minutes of no one barging out the front door to stop them, Dean knew they were home free.

They drove in complete silence for a few miles, Dean glancing every so often at how Castiel’s entire demeanor had seemed to change and he cocooned in on himself, an invisible wall put up around him as he stared out of the window. He rested his mouth on the palm of his hand as street lights and fast food signs danced over his face when they passed in a blur.

Dean didn’t attempt to draw conversation out of him—he had plenty of an idea of _how_ Castiel must have been feeling, but little on the _scale_. He wanted Castiel to come to him, so he waited.

Sensing a change of scenery was definitely in order, Dean took a right off the main road of the town, leading them off on a path that carried them farther and farther away from the lights of the urban setting. Castiel appeared to visibly relax next to him and it drew a sigh of relief from the older teen.

They were driving along a particularly dark path, the copious amounts of visible stars and the high hung full moon the only light out in the rural area they were in, when Castiel finally broke his silence.

“Dean, what’s my last name?”

It was so quiet Dean almost missed the question. “What?” he asked anyway, trying to wrap his head around it.

“Do you know my last name?”

Dean squinted when he came up on a bright red light and the truck rumbled dangerously when he came to a halt. He really needed to talk his dad in to fixing this damn car. “You know, I don’t think you ever told me, Cas.”

Castiel’s head made a small _thump_ against the window. “Yeah, I didn’t.”

“Why? What is it?”

The younger teen shrugged, and Dean recognized it as an attempt as an uncaring front from a mile away. “I don’t have one.”

“Uh, you want to run that by me again?”

“The detective couldn’t find any record of me existing. Anywhere. She asked me for my last name and—” Castiel swallowed down the crack in his voice. “And I couldn’t give her one. I literally sat there and stared at her and couldn’t give her a single name.”

Heavy, pressing silence followed. All Dean managed to eventually whisper was, “You’re shitting me.” He glanced over at Castiel, apprehension running over his entire body. “Surely there’s just some kind of mistake. People can like…forget their last name, right?”

Castiel gave Dean a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and shook his head once. “My whole life I have gone through the entire school system up until now, and not a single person has asked me my last name. Ever. Does that not seem even the slightest bit odd to you? Now that I think back on it, I’ve never heard it in roll call. Just—just—” Castiel swallowed a dry lump in his throat. “It’s not even the strangest part.” He brought his hands up to his eye level, palms up.  “Apparently I am in possession of the fingerprints of one Jimmy Novak, a thirty-something husband and father in from Pontiac, Illinois.”

 “ _What?”_ Dean managed to choke out around the way his jaw fell slack. “Cas, that’s not—how is that even—”

“Possible? I saw the match myself.”

The light overhead finally turned green, but Dean wasn’t paying attention and didn’t budge. No one else was around anyways.

“And who exactly is this _Jimmy_ guy?” he asked incredulously. “Do you even know him?”

Castiel looked him straight in the eye. “I have no earthly idea who Jimmy Novak is. But I’m told that he’s been missing for over a year now.”

Dean’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, and the only string of words he could manage together was, “ _Christ._ ” He scrubbed a hand over his face and repeated the word.

“Oh and then there’s my parents.”

Dean’s hands fell from the steering wheel and in to his lap, already having a gut feeling. “Cas…”

Castiel shook his head and swiveled it around to look pointedly out of the window again, and Dean was sure he could see Castiel’s hands ball in to a tight fist.

“I’m sorry.” Dean watched Castiel remain impassive. “I wish I could tell you something, man. I do.”

“What can you possibly say?” Castiel asked, his voice muffled by the palm placed at the corner of his mouth. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“That’s not why I’m apologizing, Cas.”

“Dean, listen to me.” Castiel’s voice was gravelly, suddenly more serious than Dean had heard before. “There is something incredibly… _wrong_ going on here. I know you see that.” Dean absently noticed the light turning red again. “And I have no clue what is going to happen, but there is not a single good thing that’s going to come of this, I know that much. And I don’t want you around when whatever _it_ is, happens.”

Dean turned his entire body towards the younger teen, his eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I want you to forget you ever met me, Dean. Starting after tonight.”

In that instant it takes to light a match, rage was suddenly boiling over right in the center of Dean’s chest. “And what the hell are you saying?” he spat.

“I’m saying that you’d do well to stay away from me.”

_“Why?”_

Castiel’s jaw tensed before he was leaning forward, challenging. “Isn’t it obvious or are you being purposefully dense? I don’t want you getting hurt!”

“Oh fuck off, Cas, I can damn well take care of myself!” Dean slammed a fist down on the steering wheel and barely flinched when the horn blared for an instant. “What makes you think that I’m just going to idly sit by while you deal with this—this— _this_! I’m sorry Cas, but that’s the stupid fucking thing you’ve ever said. I told you that I’m gonna see this through with you and that’s fucking _that._ ”

Castiel’s entire body tensed and his eyes narrowed to slits. “You. Ever since you nearly ran me over with that stupid, _stupid_ car of yours you have done nothing but plague my very existence, and I can’t stand it any more!. What makes you think you have any _right_ to invade my life like this and just settle right in like you belong here? I lived a quiet, normal enough life; I didn’t have these problems until now. My life made _sense_ until I met _you,_ Dean Winchester!” he cried, giving one hard shove to Dean’s shoulder at the last word.

Both occupants of the car settled in to silence, a mutual glare shared between the them as Castiel struggled for even breathing and Dean’s nostrils flared with fury. The logical thing to do, and what his history with these kinds of situations reports, was to devolve in to some kind of fisticuffs or a yelling match or _something_. Something absolutely not like what was about to happen.

Dean isn’t sure what made him do it, probably never will be, but before he could stop himself he was grabbing Castiel by the shoulders and pinning him back roughly against the corner between the seat and passenger side door. Something between alarm and confusion washed over Castiel’s face, and that was all Dean had time to catch before he was pressing forward and crashing his lips against Castiel’s mouth like his life and every moment of his existence had boiled down to this.

 _Better._ It was the only word Dean could think of has his lips slotted together with Castiel’s chapped ones, rough and wanton. Better. Better than the dream. Not even comparable in way to that fucking dream. If the dream was the appetizer this was the whole god damn buffet _and_ the all you can eat pie afterwards. Castiel’s hands grabbed at his arms but didn’t push him away, and a gruff moan was practically forced out of Dean as Castiel bit roughly at his bottom lip in something akin to retaliation. It was sloppy and teeth on teeth and awkward angles and nothing at all like a passionate, game changing kiss was portrayed like in the movies, but _damn_ if Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once the ringing in Dean’s ears settled in to a chant of _breathe, breathe, need to breathe,_ Dean finally pulled back an inch, Castiel’s lips chasing his futilely as he was still half pinned down. They shared the same air as both panted hot, searing breaths over each other’s faces and Dean settled his head against Castiel’s, too wrecked to be trusted to hold it upright himself.

“You, Dean Winchester,” Castiel finally rasped, his voice hoarse and dry from exertion, “are the most frustrating human being I have ever met.”

Dean grinned as best he could around his struggle for breathing and pressed one last small kiss to the corner of Castiel’s swollen lips. “Right back at ya, kid.”

A high pitched, loud wailing horn blared behind them and it made them both jump nearly out of their seats, Castiel’s hands instinctively clamping down on Dean’s shoulders painfully.

Dean glared out the back window and saw the headlights of a car right behind them, instantly realizing that during their small session the light overhead had turned green once more. Reluctantly, Dean pulled away, giving Castiel a contrite, small smile as he shifted gears and moved the car forward, watching as the car behind them turned left on to another road at the light.

Then the inevitable awkward silence followed. They got nearly a mile and a half down the road before one of them broke.

“I’m—” Dean’s voice cracked on the word and cleared his throat to try again. “I’m sorry. About that. Back there.”

There was a long silence from the other seat. “Why are you sorry?” A pause. “You regret it?”

“I—no! Cas, no, I just…” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Cas I’m just not good at these kinds of things. Actually I’m pretty terrible. I don’t know if you’re going to…” He gestured vaguely.

Castiel, as always, didn’t get it. “Going to what?”

Dean sighed, heavy, and the blush he was wearing since two miles back that had never left was beginning to redden even further. “Want me, Cas. I kind of…I don’t know. Suck.” He paused and then immediately pointed an accusing finger at Castiel. “Don’t turn that in to a dirty joke.”

There was no reply from Castiel as Dean came up on a stop sign and came to a full halt. It was a miracle he managed that much while his nerves were on such high alert—he half expected to blow right through it.

Eventually he felt a hand wrap gently around his wrist and he chewed on his tongue, refusing to look over at the passenger seat.

“I don’t regret it if you don’t.”

Dean finally looked over Castiel, the boy’s lips still red and his hair a mess on the top of his head as if every strand was trying to escape his head. Castiel looked downright silly as he sat there and offered up a nervous half smile, waiting for a reaction.

A smirk tugged at one corner of his lip and then he squashed it down, letting off the breaks and rolling forward. “Good, because I’m pretty close to just pulling this car over for the night somewhere on the side of this road in bumfuck nowhere and just having at it, if you catch my drift.” The warm laugh in response was enough to set a butterfly or two loose in Dean’s stomach.

Castiel was already saying something clever in response when there was a sudden and loud popping sound coming from the front of the car and it started shaking, almost violently, emitting sputtering noises that definitely sounded less like _old car_ and more like _dead car_ this time. Dean immediately began fiddling with the gear shift, but the car eventually gave a couple more half-hearted stutters and then went completely silent, dead.

“Shit, are you fucking kidding me,” Dean hissed as he grabbed the keys and turned the ignition in vain. All the engine did was make a pitiful effort to start and the engine wail helplessly and then Dean was slamming his fists down on the steering wheel again. “Fuck! No fucking use, I’m afraid this worthless piece of junk has finally bit the dust. Good fucking riddance.”

“You can’t fix it?”

“Even if I had the jumper cables it’d be a long shot.” Dean groaned and banged his head against the headrest. “Damn, dad is gonna have my hide for this when he finds out I took the car to make out with some kid who escaped juvie at four in the morning.”

“If it helps at all, your intention wasn’t originally making out.”

“Yeah, thanks Cas.” Dean rolled his eyes and he shimmied around in the seat to grab at his phone in his back pocket. “I wonder if there’s any one else I could possibly ca—”

Dean was cut off by the blaring eruption of a horn piercing the air as another car, seemingly out of nowhere, swerved around them at the last possible second to avoid colliding with them.

 _“Fuck!”_ Dean cried as he grabbed on to the steering wheel in shock. The car continued screaming its horn a good ways down the road as it sped off in to the darkness once more. “That was fucking close. Fucking idiotic drivers, swear to God.”

Castiel squinted outside of his window at the road ahead of them. It was difficult, the stars and moon covered with clouds now and the atmosphere around them nearly pitch black. With the car dead and the lights off, no wonder the car had barely missed them. They were nearly invisible and they were right in the middle of the intersection where they had just passed the stop sign. Castiel jerked his head up in alarm and noticed the lack of stop signs for the opposite flow of traffic. The horror dawned on him and he immediately made a grab for Dean’s sleeve as the older boy was flipping through his contacts on his phone, grumbling about driver’s who needed a good ass kicking.

“Dean,” he said, his voice suddenly hard to find. “We need to get out of this car.”

Dean glanced at him, his thumb paused over a button on his phone. “What?” he asked.

Castiel jammed his finger down on the button of his seat belt and it whipped off of his chest. “Get out of the car,” he barked, panic rising in the pit of his stomach.

Out here they were the epitome of sitting ducks.

The older teen jerked his head around, getting a good look at their surroundings, and the same realizations Castiel had just come to seemed to hit him as well. He cursed under his breath as he shoved his phone back in to his pocket and grabbed for his seat belt. It locked on him in his hurry, making his movements even more constricted.

Castiel was halfway out of the car, his door swung open, when he noticed the Dean struggling. He dove back in without another word, swatting Dean’s hands out of the way as he found the buckles and pressed on the release, only to find that it stuck.

Dean hissed out another curse and began fumbling around, telling Castiel to look in the glove box for a pocket knife he knew was there because his dad always kept a knife close at hand. Castiel was on auto pilot, doing as he was told, when he sat up to grab for the glove box handle his eyes were drowned out with light from the driver’s side window.

The car was incoming at an incredible speed, and Castiel’s pupils were reduced to slits at the overload of his senses. His blood was pumping so fast that his ears were ringing and he scrabbled around for the handle, not taking his eyes off of the car.

The knife was a lost cause, and both of them knew it.

“ _Go,_ ” Dean growled, low from the back of his throat, at Castiel, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a rough shove towards the passenger side door. Castiel was barely phased by the force and he grabbed on to Dean instead, climbing over him and giving one last futile attempt at alerting the car by slamming his fist on the horn.

It went unnoticed, the car was still barreling towards them, closing in on them, seconds away from impact.

Castiel heard the cry of his name, the command to _get out!_ , but Castiel shot him and the car one last horrified glimpse before placing both hands on the back of Dean’s skull and neck, screaming “Get down!” as he forced the teen’s upper body beneath his in a protective shell, oblivious to any consequence of doing so, the only word flooding his mind was _Dean._

Castiel didn’t feel any pain, only heard the very last second screeching of tires and feeling the grip of Dean’s fingers on his shirt and then the tell tale sound of shattering _everything_.

After that was only blackness, and Castiel didn’t feel anything anymore.


End file.
